


Another Kind of Trap

by T Fowler (serafina20)



Series: Unbroken Path [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-17
Updated: 2006-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:30:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serafina20/pseuds/T%20Fowler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters need help after the events of Devil's Trap. Luckily, Sam has made arrangements for this eventuality. He just failed to inform Rachel Adams of his plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Kind of Trap

**Author's Note:**

> This was written just after "Devil's Trap" aired, but didn't get finished until after "In My Time of Dying." So, I kind of picked an chose parts of canon. Sequel to Captured Soul and Kitsune

The phone rang.

Rachel glared at it through blurry eyes, stirring sugar into her as yet undrunk coffee. She hated it when people called before ten. Even when she was up early--and this was not one of those days--she hated it. Mornings were supposed to be private, set aside for waking up and contemplation and coffee and all the other necessities of life. They weren't for talking to other people. Especially not to telemarketers. Even the magazine editors were unwelcome.

The phone continued to ring.

It might be an editor, she thought. She pulled the spoon from her coffee and took a tentative sip. Not perfect, but enough to get her through the phone call. The last thing she wanted was to pass up an opportunity to make more money. Ever since graduation, she'd been submitting articles to the plethora of supernatural magazines in the world. They paid well for the stories she sent in. More fun, too. She'd made two hundred forty dollars for the first printing of the story about the ghost in the painting. The article had been subsequently picked up by other magazines. The kitsune money netted her even more: more words, more money, more coverage.

The big story, though, the one she was working on now, was Sam and Dean's encounter with the hell house. She'd pitched the idea as soon as Sam had told her what had happened. A lot of the more legitimate supernatural magazines, the ones who actually knew what they were doing as opposed to those in it for the flash and fun, were highly interested in it. No wonder. Demons and such were always been raised by people who didn't know what they were doing. While people had accidentally tapped into darker forces by accident in the past, this was the first time the internet had been involved. The internet and social media as the new oral tradition, so to speak, needed to be studied Rachel was going to make her name (not to mention money) when she got it out there.

Best not start pissing anyone off before that happened.

"Hello?" she answered, trying not to sound as asleep as she felt.

"Hello, my name is Dr. Gregory Isaacosn. May I please speak with Mrs. Rachel Winchester?"

Her heart stuttered. "Um. I beg your pardon?"

"Mrs., uh, Rachel Adams Winchester. Or Rachel Adams. I'm not sure what she goes by. I guess I shouldn't assume."

Her face felt funny. Her skin tingled around her mouth and forehead. She felt lightheaded. The room around her dimmed and wavered. "This is she."

The man cleared his throat. "Ah, what should I call you?"

"Rachel is fine." Her hand flailed behind her, searching for a chair. When she found it, she pulled it to her and sat.

"Rachel, I'm afraid I have some troubling news. Please be assured that your husband is in stable condition. We expect that he'll make a full recovery. However, he was in a very bad collision. He’s in a coma.”

Her throat was tight. Eyes stung.

“Rachel?”

“I… when… how long?”

“It happened last night. He, his brother, and father were brought in. I only received the legal documents in Sam Winchesters belongings a few hours ago.”

“Legal documents?”

“The marriage certificate and forms declaring you Sam’s health care proxy. I called as soon as I found them.”

“Sam’s hurt too?”

“All three Winchesters sustained head injuries in the crash and are unconscious.”

All of them were together. Severely injured, together. They must have been after the thing that killed Mary Winchester.

She put her coffee down. Scrabbled for a pen and paper. "Where are you?"

The doctor gave the address, the phone number, and room numbers. "You'll have to have ID, of course, when you get here. And, uh, the, uh, head nurse will have to talk to you about insurance and payment. The police couldn't find any of that information in their car."

"Right, of course. Okay, thank you so much, Doctor." Rachel hung up. Her head was spinning. There was so much to do. She had to pack. She had to call her dad. She had to get supplies together for an exorcism and protective wards and the like. There was no way the hospital was going to allow her to salt the windows and doors; she had to use something else.

"Sam," she whispered. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away and rose. She could start packing at least. "Goddamn it Sam, why the hell did you do this to me?"

It wasn't fair to ask. He'd done it because he'd had to. Because he was the thinker, the planner. The schemer. And he'd known. He'd known that they'd need someone like her.

Rachel just hoped she was strong enough.

***

The ring was unfamiliar on her finger. Rachel didn't wear much jewelry anyway, and she'd never worn a ring on her left finger before. It was strange, knowing what that finger was supposed to represent. What that ring was supposed to represent.

Or, really, what she was trying to pull off.

She highly doubted that Dean knew about this. He would have refused or thrown a fit or something. Rachel would have found out, at least. Before...

She blinked back the tears that threatened, took a firm hold of her purse strap, and walked into the hospital.

She'd come directly from her flight. While she'd run around gathering supplies, packing, finding the rings and everything, her parents had taken care of everything else. They'd booked her flight, rented a three bedroom, furnished apartment, and even ordered groceries to be there when she got in. Best of all, her father had already started with the bills that needed to be paid.

"I can do it," Rachel had protested when she'd heard, but her father had shaken her head.

"You can worry about any continuing bills," he'd said. He kissed her on the forehead. "When you get to the hospital, you need to be focused on them. Find out what happened, keep any demons or creatures away. Get them safe."

"Right."

"Take care of them, Rachel."

She'd promised she would. And now she was here.

Sam and John were in intensive care; Dean was in the cardio-pulmonary ward. That scared her more than the original phone call had. What was wrong with his heart? Had the damage wrought by the Rawhide all those months ago resurfaced? Had the demon done something? What was going on?

"Mrs. Winchester?"

She was never going to get used to that. She wouldn't even if it were really her name.

Rachel turned. "Yes?"

The man smiled. "Thank you for coming." He held out his hand and shook it.

He didn't flinch, sizzle, or pull away when he touched the cross that Rachel had gotten a priest to painstakingly ink on the back of her hand. It wasn't a tattoo-not a permanent one, at any rate-but it was supposed to be effective in keeping off the possessed or evil.

"Dr. Isaacosn?" she guessed.

"Yes. Why don't we go into Dean's room, so you can see him. Then I'll take you to Sam's and John's." He touched her arm gently, guiding her down the hall. "I was very pleased when the police uncovered the legal documents in Sam's belongings. It'll make things easier in the long run. Not every twenty-one year old has the wherewithal to appoint a health care proxy. We all tend to assume we're invincible."

“Well, Sam is nothing if not prepared. He was studying to be a lawyer.”

“All his documents were very well ordered. It was almost like he was expecting something like this to happen.” He raised his eyebrow in an obvious unspoken question.

Luckily, she was prepared for it. “They’re bounty hunters. All three. It’s dangerous work, and Sam, well, he likes to be prepared.”

The doctor nodded. “Bounty hunters. That’s not something I run into every day.” He stopped in front of a door. “This is Dean’s room.”

Her body went cold when she saw him. She had to bite back a gasp, covering her mouth and blinking back tears.

He looked horrible. His face was bruised. There were scratches all over his arms and neck. He just lay there, still, hooked to a million machines, pale and lifeless.

Oh, Dean.

"Are you all right?"

Rachel blinked. Tears rolled down her face. "I'm fine. What… how..”

"The crash happened Wednesday night. By the time the paramedics arrived, the other driver was dead. John and Dean both stopped breathing soon after; John is still on life support, but Dean's been breathing on his own."

"That's good. That’s good." She went to the bed and took Dean's hand in his. She squeezed it, but his hand remained lifeless. "How bad is he?"

"He's stable. We expect him to wake up soon. His brain is functioning normally, his lungs are fine. However, there is some heart damage that we can't quite explain."

Rachel sat on the edge of the bed, her leg pressed into Dean's arm. "Heart damage."

"He has an irregular beat and bradycardia. That means his heart is beating too slowly. It was also, ah, slightly out of place."

"Out of place?" She almost dropped Dean’s hand.

"His, uh, sternum was cracked and the heart was pointing in the wrong position. There were wounds on his chest from where the sternum broke through the skin."

"I don't understand. How does someone get a projecting wound on the chest from a car crash?" Rachel asked stupidly. Her mind refused to be sensible and give an answer that was plausible. Like some demon had tried to rip it out.

"I'm not sure," Dr. Isaacosn replied. "But it's from the injuries of all three men that they were injured before the car accident. John has a gunshot wound in his legs, and Sam has various injuries as well. Dean's are the most troubling. It almost seems like he may have been mauled. However, the injuries look like they're coming from the inside out rather than the normal way."

She snorted at the idea of anything that happened to the Winchesters as being normal. Blinking back another round of tears, she adjusted her body so she was looking at Dean. Careful not to cause him pain, Rachel stroked his hair, then down his cheek. "Anything else?"

"Just scratches on his chest, bruises. The injury to his heart and chest forced a lot of blood up through his GI tract."

"What about his heart?" She carded her fingers through Dean's hair. "Can you fix it?"  
"We can. We've already operated once to put the heart in its correct position. Right now, we're hoping the arrhythmia corrects itself, given time and rest. However, if it doesn't, bradycardia is treatable with a pace maker."

She snorted. "Oh, he'll love that." She traced the shell of Dean's ear with her fingertip. "Can he hear us?"

"It never hurts to talk. I'll leave you alone with him a few minutes before taking you to see the others. Just come out when you're ready."

"Thank you, Doctor." She waited until the door closed behind the doctor. Once she and Dean were alone, Rachel sighed and leaned forward until her forehead rested against Dean's. "Oh, Dean." She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, caressing the battle-worn skin. "You, my dear, are going to be so pissed when you wake up." She kissed his forehead. "But I'm glad Sam did what he did. You're all hurt, and I can take care of you all. I hope." Rachel hesitated, then kissed Dean lightly on the lips. Hey, they were married, right?

She rose and picked up the purse she'd put on the floor. Inside, in a small jewelry bag her mother had lent her, were three crosses, a pen blessed by the priest who had done her marking, and the wedding ring she'd bought at a pawn shop. The wedding ring she slipped on Dean's left finger; it, too, had been blessed and might add a modicum of protection. She looped the cross necklace over his wrist and tucked it underneath the hospital bracelet.

"Okay, Dean. I'm going to check on your brother and father, then I'll be back. And I'm going to have to go through all your stuff at some point, so I'm asking your permission. You said yes, by the way, so don't think you can yell at me when you wake up." She brushed the hair over his temple. "I'll try to find the time to check the Impala out as soon as I can. I imagine she needs some body work. Kind of like her driver." Tears filmed her eyes. Rachel blinked them away again. "Okay. I'll go now. You be good and get some sleep. I'll be back in a heartbeat." She winced. "Well. In your case, maybe a few." She bent forward and kissed him again, softer this time. Lingering. Then she stood and left the room.  
________________________________________

Sam had stitches across his forehead, a broken nose, and a head injury. His eyes were black, and he looked like a raccoon. The good news was he was breathing on his own, and the doctor thought he showed signs of waking up soon.

Rachel wrapped the cross around his wrist. There was no wedding ring, of course, and she felt bad about not having extra protection to give him, but it would look suspicious. So, she kissed his forehead and told him she'd be back soon. Oh, and she also said, "When you wake up, Samuel Winchester, I am going to smack you so hard, you're going to think that whatever it was you faced was cakewalk next to me. And I'm going to tell Dean what you did."

She hardly heard the rundown of John Winchester's injuries. She was too busy looking at the man himself. Pale, intubated, but still strangely powerful looking. An imposing man.

"Trace elements of sulfur," Dr. Isaacosn said.

Rachel blinked and pulled her gaze away from the father. "Sulfur? What?"

"It was on his clothes, his hair. Inside his mouth. We can't explain it. It wasn't on the boys, just John. It doesn't seem to be affecting him, although we're keeping an eye on his lungs, of course. We do think that's one reason he hasn't started breathing on his own yet."

"The sulfur. Yeah." Crap. Crap, crap, fuck, shit, damn. He'd been possessed. Sulfur equals demons.

Her palms discharged about a gallon of sweat.

"Can I have a moment alone with him?"

"Of course. Just, be careful. He's not stable."

"I'll be careful." She smiled weakly at the doctor and rubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans.

He left.

Rachel exhaled shakily. "Okay, John. I'm, uh, Rachel. I don't know if your boys have told you about me. Well. Sam is the one who would have. Dean and I are... you know. Complicated." She swallowed and moved towards the bed. "I have a lot of respect for you. For raising them so well under the circumstances you did. So, uh, please understand that this? Isn't personal." She took the last cross from her pocket. Pressed it into his arm.

Nothing happened.

"All right." A weight was lifted from her and she smiled. "Good. So, whatever it was, it's not there anymore." Maybe. Some demons weren't affected by Christian symbols. Dybbuks, for example. And kitsunes, although they, of course, didn't possess. And, some, very powerful demons, weren't affected either.

"Mrs. Winchester?"

Rachel turned. There were two police officers standing just outside John's room. Dr. Isaacosn was inside again.

"Yes?"

"The police are here. They have some questions."

"Of course." Rachel hesitated before slipping the cross underneath John's mattress. Then she stepped outside the room. "Officers?"

Doyle and Schmidt were both in their early thirties, polite, and hesitant. There was no good cop, bad cop here, just two good cops. They sat her down, got her coffee, and set the piles of documents they'd exhumed from the wrecked Impala between them.

"How long have you been married, Mrs. Winchester?" Doyle asked her.

"Not long," she hedged. "I haven't known Dean for all that long. It was kind of a whirlwind because of his job. He came in on a case and sort of swept me off my feet." Rachel twisted the wedding ring around her finger.

"What exactly does your husband do for a living? We can't find any records."

"He's a bounty hunter. A, uh, fugitive recovery agent. He and his brother work out of Connecticut, where I live." She reached into her purse. “I brought their license.”

Schmidt took the papers and looked over them. "Do they work with any particular bail bondsman in Connecticut?"

"No. They’re kind of freelance. Different bondsmen call them. John was doing a job in town, and he called Sam and Dean to help him out.” And then, she started to cry. Once she started, she couldn’t stop. She just sat there, crying because Dean was hurt and Sam was in a coma and John had been possessed by a demon and wasn't breathing and it was all too much. She was just a scholar with no experience in anything who was married on paper to a guy who didn't want to touch her because the women his family loved ended up pinned to the ceiling and burned.

Schmidt handed her a tissue. "We found a lot of weapons in the trunk of the car. Do you know if they're registered or legally obtained?"

"Of course.” Not so much, but if she could pull herself together and call her father, maybe they could create a paper trail of legality before they checked.

Doyle placed a box on top of the table and opened it. "What about these?"  
"False IDs," she said, picking one up. Department of Homeland Security. A really bad picture of Dean. Sam's picture wasn't much better; it claimed his name was Robert Singer. A Minnesota Law Enforcement ID gave Dean's name as Gregory Washington. "I think Dean said something about taking them off one of their fugitives a few years ago. They’re not very good. Look, this one says Sam’s girl.” She wiped her eyes. "I really want to get back to my husband, gentlemen. Is there anything else?"

They exchanged looks. "Not right now. We'll be following up, though. Where do you live?"

"New Haven."

They wrote it down, along with her phone number and address in town. The books, journals, and papers, they gave to her; apparently, the supernatural crap in it wasn't enough to intrigue them. Or worry them.

Then they let her be. She was still crying. She couldn't seem to stop. Schmidt insisted they walk her back to Dean's room. He was next to her the whole way, glued to her side. He kept passing tissues and chatting inanities at her, asking how her flight was and her hotel. Rachel got the feeling he wouldn't have left had his partner not pulled him away once she got to her destination.

"I'm back," she said. She pulled a chair next to the bed and sat. "Sam looks awful, but don't let that worry you. A broken nose can only improve his looks, right?" She was so glad Dean wasn't awake. "And your dad... I don't know about your dad. I'm going to go through your journals tonight and tomorrow, I'll perform an exorcism. I don't think there's any demon in him right now. I mean, he'd be awake then. Demons do that to people. But I want to be sure." She wiped her eyes and tried to calm down. "Dean, you need to wake up, okay? I'm not good at this, and if Sam woke up, we'd just console ourselves into a spiral of depression. At least you'll keep things interesting." She took his hand, squeezed, then shook her head. "Oh, fuck it."

Rachel kicked off her shoes. And, heart pounding, she climbed carefully into the bed, stretched out next to Dean, and held him. "I'll give you until tomorrow," she said, stroking his cheek. "And then you better wake up."

***

The phone rang.

Rachel opened her eyes, disoriented. The ceiling was unfamiliar. The sheets smelled funny. The comforter was thicker than the one she was used to.

The phone rang again.

Oh, right. She was in Nebraska. Memory returned, along with the heaviness of anxiety driven depression filled her, making her heart pound.

It rang again.

She sat up. Pushed tangled hair from her face. Dean, Sam, and John's cell phones all rested on her night stand. Dean's was ringing, buzzing on the smooth wood with every pulse.

She picked it up. "Hello?"

There was a pause. Then, "Hi. May I speak with Dean Winchester?" A woman's voice.

"Dean's unavailable." Rachel shook her head; it felt stuffed with cotton. "He was in a car accident a couple days ago. He hasn't woken up yet."

"What? Is he okay? How bad was it?"

"The doctors say he'll be fine. I'm sorry, to whom am I speaking?"

"My name is Cassie."

Talk about a bucket of ice water being thrown over you. Instantly, Rachel went wide awake. No need for coffee this morning. "Cassie," she said stupidly. "Oh."

"Yes. Who are you?"

She licked her lips. "My name is Rachel. I'm a friend of the family." The doctor and police think I'm married to Dean. I think Dean might still be in love with you. You've hurt him twice now, and I don't like you, but if Dean wants you…. You're probably stronger than I am anyway.

Instead of saying everything that went through her mind, though, Rachel just said, "Dean was in the backseat when his car was hit by a truck. Sam was driving. He's really banged up. Broken nose, concussion. And their dad was with him. He's not breathing."

"But what about Dean?"

Rachel took a deep breath. Then she gave Cassie the complete rundown of Dean's injuries, leaving nothing out.

"My God. He called a few days ago. I didn't answer, but he left a message. He just told me to be careful, watch myself. Watch out for any strangers, that sort of thing. Carry a cross." She gave a sort of self-deprecating laugh. "I wish I'd talked to him."

"Me too," Rachel admitted. She, too, had gotten a message from Dean. Only, hers had been an order to leave the country right away, to ward everything up tight and pretend she didn't know him. He'd also threatened to kick her ass if she didn't listen to him. She'd been too busy trying to call him back to follow any of his directions, not that she'd had the slightest intention of leaving.

She wished she'd been there, although, if she had, she'd probably be in the hospital, too.

"My schedule is packed for the rest of the week, so I can't come up. Can you keep me posted on his condition until I can?"

Cassie was coming up? "Yeah, sure. Of course. I have Dean's cell and, uh, your numbers in it. I'll give you a call after I see them today. Update you and everything."

"Thank you. I really appreciate it."

"No problem." They said their goodbyes and hung up.

Christ. This was such a mess. Last she'd heard, Cassie was in a serious relationship. Not that Rachel didn't think Dean still cared for her. He had a heart that was at least as big as his ego. Rachel wouldn't be surprised if he'd called all the people he'd ever come in contact with if he'd been worried about their lives.

She wondered what had happened before the accident. She wondered if anyone else had gotten hurt or killed.

She took a shower and ate breakfast. Her father called to tell her that he'd faxed the marriage license to her insurance company, and they were now covering Dean as well. She supposed she should feel guilty about the insurance fraud, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The Winchesters committed all kinds of fraud anyway; it was only luck that the police hadn't found their plethora of scammed credit cards. The weapons and IDs could be explained through the cover of bounty hunter; the cards couldn't.

Clean, fed, awake, Rachel climbed onto the sofa with her mug of coffee and the Winchester journals. She opened John's first and soon found herself engrossed.

The first entry was painful. Dated November 6, 1983, right after Mary Winchester had died. The sorrow and anger in it made her heart ache, both for John and his boys. They'd lived a normal life: t-ball, baby clothes, and then it was just ripped away. And they didn't even know why.

Or, maybe they did. Maybe that's why they were hurt now. Maybe they'd found the answer to all their questions.

A lot of the early entries spoke of John's frustration at not being believed. Rachel couldn't imagine what he must have gone through. She'd grown up, all her life, with the idea that the supernatural world was as real as theirs. No, not everyone believed, but she'd had people around her who did. Who knew she wasn't just letting her imagination run away with her the time that thing took residence in her closet. Trying to come to grips with the strange thing that had happened on the night of Mary's death, and then being suspected of murdering her, must have been awful for him. No wonder he'd kept such a tight leash on his boys. No wonder Sam had rebelled.

No wonder Dean held on so tightly.

She read about Dean shutting down, and Sam crying all the time. How Dean found solace only in his brother. How John was stalked by the demon presence for months--not surprising if it'd been after Sam and his abilities. Getting help from someone named Missouri.

Missouri.

Rachel immediately picked up John's cell phone. Sure enough, Missouri's number was in the phone book. She dialed.

It rang a few times, then transferred to the answering machine. "You've reached Missouri's Psychic Predictions. Leave your name and number, and I'll call you back to set you up with an appointment so we can figure out your future." The phone beeped.

"Hi. My name is Rachel. I'm a friend of the Winchesters. Anyway, I just... They were in an accident and..."

"What on God's green Earth did those boys get themselves into now?" a woman asked, sounding annoyed.

Rachel's mind screeched to a halt at the interruption. It took a moment to switch tracks from leaving a message to actually interacting with another person. "Uh," she said, no doubt impressing Missouri with her intelligence, "I'm not entirely sure. The reason they're in the hospital is because a truck rammed into their car. But I think that that demon they've been after? The one who killed their mom? I think that it had something to do with it. They're all really banged up and were hurt before the accident."

"If all three of them were together, they probably were going after that demon." Missouri made a sound of annoyance. "How bad off are they?"

"They're all unconscious. Sam and Dean are stable and out of intensive care. Dean's in the CT unit, because he had heart surgery. John is still in the ICU. I think he might have been possessed." She told Missouri about the sulfur and the damage it had done.

"Is it still in him?"

"I don't think so. I touched him with a cross, and he didn't react. But, well, I'm afraid this demon wouldn't be affected by the normal props."

"So you think he was possessed by the thing that killed his wife."

"The latter. My family researches this kind of stuff, and I've asked everyone to look. No one in my family can find mention of a demon who kills by pinning the mothers to the ceiling. Generally, if it's not mentioned in books, it's really old and really powerful."

"Adams, huh? Are you related to Oliver Adams?"

"He's my grandfather."

"I know him. He's the man that taught me how to control these powers I got. Nice man. Respectable. How did his baby granddaughter get involved with the Winchesters?"

Rachel blushed. "The boys helped me a bit." She told Missouri about Andrew Winston and the kitsune. She edited the second story as much as she could, not wanting to get into the embarrassment too deeply.

Missouri, though, knew her stuff. "Girl, you telling me that you're a virgin and hanging around a possibly possessed body? And Dean Winchester?"

Her face was in flames. "Trust me. Dean's not a problem."

"Now that's debatable. However, the demon isn't. If that thing is trapped inside John's body, and he's as hurt as you say? Then the demon's hurt, too. Trapped. And he's looking for a place to go. What better place than a nice little virgin already connected to the family. Those things eat purity alive and enjoy it. It'll eat you alive, baby doll."

She felt ill. "I can't leave them. I'm the person in charge. I'm the health-care proxy."

Missouri clicked her tongue. "I wasn't gonna tell you to leave, child. Just stay away from John until I get there and examine John. That's all."

"You're coming."

"Of course I'm coming! What did you think? I was going to abandon you with three of the most pig-headed men ever existed? I don't think so."

Rachel blinked back sudden tears. "Thank you." She wanted to say more, but the words were all stuck in her throat. Besides. She didn't want to admit how overwhelmed she'd been feeling.

"Of course, child. Now, tell me where you are and where the boys are. I ain't Cleo, and I don't read things over the phone."

"I'll probably be at the hospital all day," Rachel said after giving Missouri the information. "I want to be there in case Sam or Dean wakes up."

"Make sure you protect yourself. You go to the nearest store and get yourself some dill. Put it in a little bag and hang it around your neck. That'll help protect you, along with any crosses you have."

"I'll do it. Thank you."

"My pleasure, dear."

________________________________________

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Dean groaned. He flailed out a hand so he could throw the damn alarm clock across the room.

Beep.

He hit something metal with the back of his hand. Pain blossomed. With a hiss, he pulled his hand to him and opened his eyes.

There were needles stuck in the back of his hand. He followed the tubes back up to the IV stand next to his bed, then the machine above him. Not an alarm clock. A heart monitor. The hissing sound was oxygen being fed to him by one of those nose tube masks.

Heart monitors. He hated them.

Dean scratched the tape around the back of his left hand. His throat ached, like it was bruised or something. His chest hurt. His mouth tasted gross. His head was pounding and his eyes were fuzzy.

And there was a plain gold band around his left ring finger. A wedding ring.

The fuck?

The door opened. A man in a nurse's outfit walked in. He smiled at Dean. "You're awake." He moved to the wall near Dean and pressed a button. "I'm Alex, the floor nurse. How do you feel?"

"Like I got run over by a bus."

"Close. Do you remember what happened?" He opened a clipboard case and started jotting down notes, eyes on the monitors above Dean's head.

Dean licked his lips. He was thirsty. "I, uh. I was in the back of my car. My brother was driving. There was a... a crash? I don't know. It's kind of confusing."

The door opened again. "Hello. I'm Dr. Isaacson, your attending physician."

Dean half-heartedly shook the man's hand. He was tired already. "Where's my brother?"

"He's on another floor. You're in a CT unit right now. Sam's in a private room." He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and shined it in Dean's eyes. "Can you tell me your full name?"

"Dean Alan Winchester."

"Birthday?"

"January 24, 1979."

"Where were you born?"

"Lawrence, Kansa."

The flashlight went away. The doctor checked Dean's ears, nose, and throat. "Can you tell me the names of those in your family?"

He licked his lips. "John and Mary are my parents. My mom's dead, though. And Sam. Is my dad okay?"

"He's stable, but not breathing on his own right now. We've got him in the ICU."

"Can I see him and Sam?"

"Maybe later. I don't know if you're up for it today, but we'll see. Can you tell me the name of your wife?"

Well, crap.

Dean twisted the ring around his finger. His brain felt like there was a big hole in it. He couldn't remember getting married. He couldn't remember being in a relationship after Cassie. He didn't remember asking anyone or buying a ring or anything. Nothing.

Stomach churning, he admitted, "I don't know."

Dr. Isaacson frowned. "Do you remember that you're married?"

"No."

"Hmm." He rubbed the back of his head. "Well, you have been through a trauma. The amnesia is probably temporary. We'll wait until you see her. Maybe that will jog your memory."

Dean swallowed again. "Can I have some water?"

"Of course."

There was a pitcher on the tray at the foot of Dean's bed. Alex pour some water from it into a cup.

"My throat hurts. And my chest." He touched the latter. It felt like it was wired together or something."

"We had to do heart surgery on you, Dean. It was damaged."

Dean froze at the words. Now he really felt sick. Not again. He couldn't go through this again, especially not if he was married. Bad enough to leave Sammy behind with no one to protect him, but a wife too? No fucking way.

He listened quietly as Isaacson ran down the list of Dean's injuries and what had been done to fix it. Each word felt like a sledgehammer to his head. Broken sternum. Heart out of place. Surgery. Beating too slow.

"Is this going to kill me?" he finally asked.

Dr. Isaacson shook his head. "It shouldn't. Ideally, given time and rest, your heart will recover from the strain. If it doesn't, we can treat it."

"How?"

"We can insert a pacemaker to correct the rhythm."

"Fantastic." Dean closed his eyes. Family unconscious, a marriage he didn't remember, and now the return of heart problems. With added pacemaker fun.

"Alex, do you know where Mrs. Winchester is?" Dean hard Dr. Isaacson ask.

"I think she's with the brother. Do you want me to get her?"

"No, I'll do it. I want to warn her about the gaps in his memory. Prepare her for another shock."

Another shock. Who was going to prepare him, Dean wondered before he fell back to sleep.

***

"You are such a moron," Rachel whispered. She sat in the chair next to Dean's bed once more, purse at her feet, hands on the bed. "You weren't supposed to wake up when I wasn't here. I have so many things I need to explain. You would have to be contrary." She took his hand and kissed it.

Then she sat back. She'd brought the journals with her to the hospital so she could continue to go through them. Right now, she opened Dean's. She hadn't finished John's yet, but she needed a break from it. About a year after Mary's death, the entries got very angry. As difficult as it had been to read his grief, his anger was even harder. She needed a break.

Dean's journal was much more straightforward than John's, at least at first. Mostly, he simply recorded what he fought, where he fought it, and how he killed it. Sometimes, he had personal notes. Sam's name came up a lot. And, every time they changed towns, Dean had an entry. A lot of times those entries included a list of names and a few phone numbers. Friends, she guess.

After Sam had left, the frequency of the personal entries increased. Rachel skimmed them, mostly. She didn't want to intrude. When Cassie's name started appearing, though, she couldn't help but read a little more closely. Each word was like a knife to her heart. She knew she shouldn't torture herself, but she couldn't help it, even though she refused to think of Cassie as competition

She did read the entries about Dean's one-night stands. Apparently, he hadn't lied about not enjoying them all that much. She'd always figured he'd been patronizing her.

Years of places, demons, ghosts, and the like. And then, there was her name.

She was a good girl. She didn't read anything about her, except his initial thoughts about her being involved in the first case (he'd admitted, grudgingly even to himself, that she'd done an okay job). And there was a page that had three words on it: She's a virgin?

Was it really that surprising?

Reading through the journal, Rachel learned a few things about Dean. One: he preferred printing to cursive. Two: all his doodles had some sort of weapon. Three: he was a fantastic speller. And, four: hunting, while a passion, was not the priority Rachel had assumed it was. He loved it, but before anything else came family.

Rachel skipped to the end. If she stayed here, she'd give into temptation and read more about herself. So, the last entry.

It obviously had been written in the car, based on the handwriting. Dean had written about the exorcism he and Sam had done on a girl named Meg. It was a rather stark entry, just the facts. What they'd done, questions they'd asked, what she'd said. Straightforward.

And then, the last line: _I spent all that time hating the sight of her face, the sound of her voice, and it wasn't even her. That demon made me hurt someone completely innocent. How do I live with something like that?_

Rachel sighed. "More experienced men have been taken in by demons," she whispered. She took her hand again.

It tightened.

Her throat tightened. "Dean? Are you awake?"

"Mmmm. Yeah." He moved his head from side to side and swallowed. "Water."

Rachel slipped her hand from his and poured him a glass. "Here."

"Thanks." Dean opened his eyes. As he drank, he looked blurrily at her.

Her face heated under his scrutiny. She knew she looked like a mess. Her hair was falling out of her braid and her clothes were all rumpled. Uncertain, she twisted her ring around her finger.

Dean put the empty cup on the tray. "At least I know you. When he said I was married, I was afraid I wouldn't even know my wife. I know you." He swallowed again. "Actually, I was afraid it might be some kind of trick. Like, some stranger who was possessed or something was trying to stay close to me by passing itself off as my wife." He took her hand and threaded their fingers together.

That was... "How do you know I'm not possessed? Doesn't it make sense that a demon would possess someone you know?" Why did she say that? Why was she being stupid? God.

He rolled his eyes. "Please. You've got a cross around your neck. And some kind of bag. Freak. And there's another cross on your hand."

"But..."

"Your hair is a mess. There's ink on your cheek. And on your jeans. You look like you slept in your clothes for three days straight. No demon would ever be caught dead looking like that."

"Not even to lull you into a false sense of security?"

He rolled his eyes again and took her by the wrist. Before Rachel could stop him, he pulled her to the bed and raised the back so he was sitting upright.

His breath stunk. His lips were chapped. But just the feel of them pressed against hers was enough to make her melt.

She sat down hard on the bed. "Dean..."

"Nope. Not a demon." He caressed her cheek with her thumb. "Why don't I remember us getting married?"

"Because..."

"Of the accident, I know. But it's weird. I can remember meeting you. I remember how annoying you are. I remember the whole thing with that fox demon. I remember seeing you graduate."

"You were there?"

He shook his head. "Your dad sent Sam the tape of your graduation since we couldn't make it. And we couldn't make it because of getting our asses handed to us in Chicago by the demon possessing Meg." He glanced at the journal Rachel had set on the bed. "Did you read about her?"

She nodded. "Sorry about reading it. I've spent the last two days trying to figure out what happened to you guys."

"I figured."

"I didn't read anything personal."

"Oh, don't lie, you freak. You totally read personal stuff."

Her cheeks flushed. "Well, not too much. Oh. Cassie called this morning."

Dean's eyes darkened. "Is she okay? I called the other day... I called you, too." He frowned. "I called you the other day to warn you. That bitch demon was killing friends of the family. I was worried she'd..." He looked at her, confusion written across his face. "I remember all this. Everything. So why don't I remember marrying you?"

 

"Because we didn't get married."

Dean frowned. He looked at his ring, then Rachel's. "Well, that I remember."

"You remember not marrying me?"

"I remember a lot of times I didn't marry you. Some of my fondest memories involve not marrying you."

Rachel smacked his leg. "Jerk."

"Hey! I've just been through a very traumatic experience here. And I'm in the hospital. Be kind."

"Like you were kind to me last time I was in the hospital?" she said.

His smile faded. "Now that's really not fair."

She pulled the rubber band out of her hair, feeling like shit. "I know. I'm just… the past few days have been hard. At least you got to sleep through them."

"You think waking up to find out my brother and father are in comas and that I'm married is easy?"

"No. No, of course, not, just..." She sighed. Her head ached. "I shouldn't have said that. Sorry."

Dean rubbed his eyes. "Look, I'm all fuzzed in the head right now, so I'm not thinking straight. But maybe I didn't handle that whole thing right."

"You think?"

"I was trying to protect you."

"Me, or yourself?"

"Hey, it's not like I never think of other people. All my life, I've been taught to look after my family. Save those who don't know from what's out there. Don't try to paint me as some selfish jerk, okay? I care. I care a lot." He glared at her a moment, then crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. "Don't make me into some one-dimensional figure."

Rachel scooted closer to him and pulled her legs under her. After a moment's hesitation, she straddled his hips. "Dean," she said, cupping his face.

His jaw tightened. His eyes didn't open.

"I know how much you care. I didn't mean to imply that you didn't. It's just, you drive me crazy sometimes. You call and we talk, and then for weeks, I don't hear anything. You were jealous of Kit, you were so nice to me after what happened. You made it seem like you were interested in trying something with me. And then, I say one wrong thing..."

"It wasn't just one wrong thing," he said, opening his eyes. "It's what that wrong thing was."

"I know..."

"No!" He grabbed her wrists and tried to sit up. The pain was immediately evident in his face, but he held on. "No, you don't know. You don't know what it's like seeing someone pinned to the ceiling, bleeding from their abdomen a moment before they burst into flames. You don't know what it's like to have your entire world turned upside-down because the woman you loved was killed right before your eyes. You don't know, Rachel. And excuse me if I am trying to protect myself, but I think it's justified. I've already lost enough in my life. I don't need to lose you, too."

For the millionth time since she'd gotten the call, her eyes filmed with tears. She blinked them away best she could. "Three days ago, I got a call telling me my husband, his brother, and his father were in the hospital, all unconscious. About a month or so ago, Sam called and told me that you two were in some city outside of Chicago, had been attacked by devas, and you'd lost so much blood, you'd been admitted to the hospital. And, sure enough, you called not three hours later, from the hospital, just to talk. Again not telling me why you sounded so exhausted, or what had happened, or even where you were. Just to talk."

"So?"

"I don't know what my point is." She extracted her wrists from Dean's grasped and rubbed her eyes. Her head ached. "Just, maybe, you fight so hard to protect so many people. You care, but you don't save anything for yourself. It's not fair."

"Life isn't fair, baby."

"You're already afraid to lose me as it is. You called and told me to get out of the country."

"That demon bitch killed my friends. She killed Pastor Jim!" His voice cracked.

Pastor Jim. Rachel remembered the name from John's journal. "I'm sorry."

He made a dismissive gesture. "Whatever. My point is, I was just trying to protect people who might be in danger. That's all. It was nothing personal."

"You called Cassie."

Dean flinched. "I don't want to talk about Cassie."

"She called you."

"So you said."

"I told her what happened. She was worried."

"Of course she was worried. She's my ex-girlfriend. We parted on good terms. What, you think she's heartless or something?"

"No, of course not. In fact, I need to call her. Tell her you woke up. Or, uh, maybe you should. I'm sure you two have a lot to say to each other." Rachel moved to climb off him, but he stopped her by putting her hands on her waist.

"Rach, this isn't about her. I'm not choosing her over you or something. It's not about that, so don't get all mopey on me."

She wouldn't look at him. "I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"Dean..."

He suddenly pulled her to him, arms coming around her back. A small, pained noise escaped his throat, and he shifted her off his chest.

She obligingly moved so she was next to him, and took the comfort he offered, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm just tired and stressed. I've been running on coffee and adrenaline for the past few days."

"Yeah, it occurred to me." He squeezed her shoulder. "What happened anyway? What's with the rings and everyone thinking we're married?"

"I'm sorry about that."

"I'm not angry."

"Yeah, why aren't you?" she asked, lifting her head. "I expected you to freak. I've felt sick since I first got the call, partly because of what happened, and partly because I could only imagine how you were going to react."

"Obviously you don't know me as well as all that."

"Obviously. So, why are you taking this so well?"

He hitched a shoulder. A look of pain crossed his face. He moved Rachel off his shoulder. "Well, it's not like I haven't thought of it before. Getting married, I mean. My dad seemed to like it."

"I guess I never figured you for the marrying type."

"Said I thought about it. Never thought I’d actually do it." He pinched her arm. "So. How did the hospital end up thinking you were that woman?"

"Sam."

"Sam?"

"Yeah. He forged a marriage license that says we're married. I finally got to see it. We were supposedly married on April 16."

"Good day. Where?"

"New Haven. Anyway, sometime later it seems he got it into his head that he should make me his health care proxy. Yours too, but for whatever reason he didn't toss the marriage certificate."

"Why would he make it? I don't understand."

She swallowed, stomach churning again. There was no way to tell how Dean was going to react. "I'm thinking money."

"Huh?"

"Let’s face it, Dean, I've money. I have the means to protect you guys if something like this happens. If you're all unconscious, there's no way you'll be able to pass off a fake credit card. Sam was smart. He knew that one day you guys might need someone who could be counted on in an emergency, both financially and... supernaturally?" she finished lamely.

Dean closed his eyes. "That's embarrassing."

She stroked his hair. "It shouldn't be."

"Please. Either my brother is whoring me out, or taking advantage of my feelings, or he's just rubbing in the fact that Dad never made plans to protect us if something happened."

"Or he was just trying to protect his family. Maybe it has nothing to do with your dad. And, okay, yeah, it was a little presumptuous to make us married. But, on the other hand, you seem to get hurt a lot. And that marriage license, along with some manipulation from my father, got you covered by my insurance, so, in actuality, you're a lot cheaper than your brother."

Dean snorted. "That's what everyone seems to think." He opened his eyes. "Look, I need you to promise me something, though."

"Um, okay. What?"

"This heart thing I've got going on. If it turns out like last time, and there's nothing they can do, just... don't do anything. Don't let Sam look for faith healers or demons or anything to make me better through anything that's not a regular human doctor. And I don't want too many of those, either, because apparently you're going to be paying for it all, and I don't want you to waste your money on a useless cause."

"Dean..."

"I'd rather you'd save it for a nice funeral. Well, cremation. And then funeral. I'll write up exactly what I want, and I'm trusting you to get it right. You are obsessively anal about details, right?"

"Dean..."

"Just promise, Rachel."

Lump in her throat, Rachel nodded. It felt like there was a knife slashing down from her right temple through her neck. "Yeah," she managed to force out. "I promise. But the doctor said you'll be all right."

"I know. He also said I might need a fucking pacemaker."

"I knew you wouldn't be happy about that."

"No. But I guess it's better than the alternative." Dean pulled her close and ran his thumb down her cheek, following a wet trail. "Don't. It probably won't happen anytime soon, all right? But as long as you're my wife, I figure I can get in some of the stuff I've been wanting to ask for, but didn't know who to ask."

"We're not really married."

"Thank God. If I ever do get married, I want to at least remember it." He threaded his fingers through hers again. "Nice rings. You pick them?"

She nodded. "I went to a pawn shop. They had these. Don't take yours off. I had a priest bless it, so it offers extra protection."

"I won't." He laid his head back and closed his eyes. "You see my dad today?"

"No, not yet. I saw Sam. He's doing well. They say that he'll probably wake up any time now. I was going to go back and visit him later."

"What about Dad?"

"Well. I called an old friend of your family's. I got her name from your dad's journal, and her number was in his cell phone. We talked, and she thought it might be better if I stayed away from him until she can figure out if he's still possessed."

The eyes opened. He looked tired, eyes sliding in and out of focus. But he was fighting it. "I don't think he is. I saw the demon go out of him."

"Did you exorcise him?"

"No. It left on its own. Sam shot it in the leg, and my dad got control over his body. Dad told Sam to shoot him, and I... Sam didn't. And then, all the sudden, the demon just flew out of his body."

"Why?"

"I don't know. You think it might be a trick?"

"Well, boy, that's what I'm here to find out," a voice said in the doorway.

Rachel turned. A short black woman strode into the room. She had a huge purse slung over one shoulder. One hand on her hip. One eyebrow raised. The look she gave Dean could peel paint.

"Dean Winchester, you better take your hand of that child's leg right this minute," she said. "No way you gonna take advantage of your brother's mistakes."

Dean immediately pulled away his hand. "Missouri," he said, voice flat.

"That's right. Good to see you awake." She smiled at him. "Now what exactly have you boys done now?"

***

"Yup, " Missouri said, coming out of John's room. "He's definitely got something inside him."

"The demon?" Rachel finished braiding her hair and tied it off.

The other woman shook her head. There was a pensive expression on her face, eyebrows drawn together, mouth puckered. "No, not exactly. The demon itself is gone, but bits of it are still inside John."

"How's that possible?"

"Well, Dean said that John got shot by that special Colt. Normally, injuries to the human host don't bother demons, but this one did. That demon hightailed it out, but since it was hurt, it couldn't make a clean getaway. Bits and pieces are left behind."

"Will it hurt him?"

"Girl, you ain't stupid. Don't go asking stupid questions. It don't impress no one." Missouri bit her lower lip and shook her head. "I've heard of people living with demon bits in them before. Sometimes it's because of an exorcism done wrong, sometimes they just happen to be in the wrong place, wrong time."

"Okay, that I don't understand."

"Demons don't always do the full blown possession bit, especially not the weaker ones. They find people vulnerable enough to sneak into, usually high or drunk, or even just sick sometimes, and move in for a while. They stay for whatever experience they're after-usually sex-then leave as soon as it's over. In fact, they're not much different than..."

"If you say Dean," Rachel interrupted, steel in her voice, "then you can just pack up and go home. I'm not going to let someone who doesn't know the first thing about him slander his name."

Missouri gave her a half-smile. "I was gonna say most men. Dean Winchester may be a lot of things, but he's not a love 'em and leave 'em sort of guy. His daddy taught him better than that."

Rachel's face warmed. "Sorry. I just... there was a lot of tension in the room earlier when you walked in. And you were kind of mean to him."

"That wasn't meanness. That was love, baby."

"He didn't think so."

"Well." Missouri linked her arm through Rachel's and walked her down the hall towards the elevator. "You love him your way, and I'll love him mine."

"I don't love him. I mean, that's not... We just... I care for them both a lot. That's all."

"Mmm-hmm."

She pulled her arm away. "How do we get rid of it?"

"You don't get rid of love."

"And the demon bits polluting John's body? How do we get rid of those?"

Missouri shook her head, her knowing smirk melting away. "That I don't know. Not yet, anyway. Luckily, I've got a scholar girl here that knows how to research all that for us. Be better for you than spending all your time moping around here all day."

"It hasn't been that bad. Besides, I want to be here with them. They need me."

"What they need is time to rest, and so do you. You won't do either of them any good worrying yourself to death."

"I'm fine." She wasn't. Her head ached and throbbed. Her eyes were heavy and coffee wasn't doing anything but making her feel jittery and sick. She couldn't even remember if she'd eaten since breakfast.

Missouri made that sound again, shook her head, and rolled her eyes. "What you should do is head back to your apartment, eat a good lunch, and take a long nap. I'll sit and watch the boys."

"I'm not leaving until Sam wakes up." She crossed her arms over her chest and picked up her pace. Missouri's admonishments about her getting too close to John were ringing in her head, and even though the demon's spirit wasn't in him, Rachel was still feeling freaked out.

Somehow, demons bits left being was almost worse than an actual demon.

She hit the elevator call button. It opened almost immediately. Missouri got in beside her, silent for once.

"Will it hurt him?" Rachel asked after a moment. "I mean, what does having parts of demon inside do?"

"It changes people. Brings out every nasty bit a person has inside them. Men start beating their wives, women hurt their babies. Hurt each other, hurt themselves. Give into any base instinct that they woulda resisted before. They get sicker easy. Wear out young. Those black parts in them just get fed every time they give in to the impulses until all that's left in them is meanness and anger."

Rachel shivered. "We have to do something."

"We will. But we can't do anything until someone gets the rest she needs."

The elevator doors opened. Rachel moved quickly, not wanting to hear Missouri's increasing admonishments.

Dean was sleeping when Rachel got into his room. He wasn't sleeping peacefully. He twitched under the blankets, his hands opening and closing convulsively. Sweat rolled down his face. The oxygen nose-thing had been knocked askew. Dean was breathing hard, but none of the machines were sounding alarm.

Still.

Rachel quickly crossed the room. "Dean. Dean!" She shook him.

"Back bitch!" he rasped out, eyes flying open. His hand clamped around her wrist.

She gasped. "Dean, calm down."

"Rachel?" He looked around, brow furrowed. Sweat dripped into his eyes.

"Do you remember where you are?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." He exhaled slowly and lay back on his pillows. Although his grip on her wrist loosened, he didn't let go.

"Nightmare?" She fixed the oxygen tubes and sat on the bed.

"Yeah. How's dad?"

"Still unconscious. Still not breathing."

"And he's got demon bits inside him," Missouri added at the door.

Dean frowned. When Rachel tried to blot the sweat from his face, he pushed her hand away. "I thought it left him."

Missouri nodded. "It did, honey. But when it left, it was hurt. That gun you shot it with did it's damage. Normal demons leave parts of themselves behind when they leave on their own, but this thing left much more."

"Well, let’s get it out of him. What are you waiting for?"

"I'm not sure how. Rachel's gonna start researching ways to extract the little bits from your daddy as soon as she goes home and gets some sleep. Dean, you tell your girl that she needs to rest."

Dean put her arm around her and looked at her closely. "You look like crap."

"Thanks."

"No, I'm serious. You look awful. Go home and sleep."

Rachel shook her head. "I'm not leaving until Sam wakes up."

"Baby girl, he don't need you here like Dean did. He's got both of us now. The pressure ain't on you so much no more."

"For once she's right. I'll be fine. Sam'll be fine. I can kick his ass for both of us if he wakes up."

The pressure on her head was intense. It felt like her brain was swelling, about to burst through her skull. Still. She could out-stubborn Dean any day. "No, I'm fine. I'll just sit and close my eyes a few minutes. You can watch TV."

"No." He pushed her off the bed. "You can go and sleep."

"But Dean..."

"I don't want you here. I'm sick of you. Your face, your voice, everything." When she didn't budge, he cocked his head. "I'll break out the projectile vomiting."

She raised her eyebrow at him.

"I'm serious. Just the sight of your face brings it on. In fact, I think it might be detrimental to my heart."

Laughter bubbled up in her. "You're such a freak. Okay, I'll go. But you guys have to promise to call the minute you hear anything about Sam."

Dean crossed his heart. Missouri didn't say anything.

"Okay." She walked across the room, to where Dean had put the journals.

He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her back. "No. Leave them here."

"But..."

"If you take them, you'll read them. Not only will you break down and read everything I ever wrote about you, but then you'll never get to sleep."

She sat. Put her hand on Dean's shoulder. Leaned in. "I thought you said that you knew I already read everything you ever wrote about me."

"I lied. You're actually the kind of freak who'd never delve into my personal thoughts and feelings about you. You stupid. Stupid. Girl." He punctuated each stupid with a kiss.

"But I need to know more about the demon."

"No, you don't. You need to sleep." He shoved her away again. "Here's your purse. Go. Shower. For God's sake, wash the fucking ink off your face."

"Oh, you better be glad you're sick." She took her purse from Dean and turned to Missouri. "You be nice him. It's not your job to give him hell. I'm the one with the ring."

"I make no promises." She stood from the chair she was in and kissed Rachel on the cheek. "You can get back to your place yourself?"

"Yeah. The bus drops off right down the street. Hopefully, they'll release the car soon, so I can see about getting it fixed up so I can drive."

"Don't you dare think you're going to drive my car."

She and Missouri exchanged smiles.

"Bye!" Rachel said, smiling brightly at a scowling Dean. Then, before he could say anything else, she left the room.

***

Dean waited until he was sure that Rachel was gone. He figured it be quite a while. If he knew her, she was probably hanging just outside the room, or at the nurse’s station trying to figure out how he really was. And then, she was probably going to go to Sam's room and make sure he was okay.

That girl really pissed him off sometime.

He ended up waiting at least a half hour. It wouldn't have been as long, except that he fell asleep, yet again. When he opened his eyes, Missouri was still sitting in that chair in his room. She was knitting something-a sweater or a scarf or something. Dean didn't know and he didn't care. It was bizarre, though. Didn't fit into his image of her.

"You don't know thing one about me," Missouri said not looking up from her yarn thing. "Don't you go trying to pigeonhole me into some stereotype."

"Sorry." He rubbed his eyes, not feeling one bit sorry. "Rachel gone?"

"It took a bit. That girl is every bit as stubborn as you. Your brother and father, too. She'll fit right in."

"To what?" He reached for the tray next to his bed and tugged it to him. The plastic jug of water was full. When he poured, his hands shook and water spilled on the tray and him.

"Your family, of course."

Dean snorted. He didn't want to think about that. The ring didn't mean anything. Sam's decision to make Rachel their personal ATM machine really didn't make him happy. This whole thing sucked.

Most of the water made it into him. The remainder he sopped up with his blanket.

"So. How's Dad? Really?"

Missouri looked up and set the knitting on her lap. "He's really unconscious, not breathing on his own, and has demon bits inside him."

"Yeah, but... Isn't there more? I mean, I just figured that you were, you know. Keeping something back. From Rachel."

"Now why would I do that?"

Dean thought a moment, then shrugged. He figured the answer, "Because I'm on morphine," would only get him chewed out, so he just said, "I don't know. It seems like something you'd do."

One of her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. "Boy, just because you hide things from her don't mean I do."

"I don't hide things from her. I'm not suicidal."

"Please. You're lying in that bed, wishing that ring on your finger actually meant something, and you're seriously going to tell me that you don't keep things from her?"

Dean cleared his throat and shifted. His chest really hurt, and he didn't like the fact that this woman was looking so deep into his head she could see things he wouldn't look at himself. "I just... want to make sure I'm getting all the facts, you know?" He fisted the blanket restlessly. "I hate being stuck here."

"You've been awake one day. Give it time. They'll let you out."

Dean groaned softly and lay his head back. "I know. I just want to see them." He closed his eyes.

The chair scrapped. A moment later, a warm hand squeezed his. "Don't you worry. Winchesters are fighters. You know that better than anyone."

"You're being nice to me. Why?" He opened one eye.

"Because you're being halfway decent. Don't worry. You'll get better and I'll go back to treating you like you need to keep you in line. Unless your girl takes over, which she just might. She seems to have a good handle on you."

"She's not my girl."

"Mmmm-hmmm."

The door opened. "Dean?" Alex, the nurse, stuck his head in. There was a smile on his face. "I thought you'd want to know that your brothers awake. His doctor is with him now, but it sounds like he's fine."

"Can I see him?"

"Probably not until tomorrow. Doctor will probably have him rest on his floor, and you won't be able to walk up to him anytime soon."

Dean arched his eyebrow at that. No one told him what he could and couldn't do.

Then his chest twinged, causing his breath the catch with pain.

Okay, so. Maybe the guy had a point. Unfortunately, he'd sent Rachel away, which meant...

"Missouri," he said softly. He couldn't look at her.

Which meant he hadn't noticed she'd already stepped outside. Her head popped back in. "Did you need something?" she asked, sounding like she already knew what he wanted.

Dean cleared his throat and said, "Uh. Tell him I said hi."

"Well, I was already gonna do that." She flashed a smile. "Rest easy."  
________________________________________

"My brother," Sam asked for about the millionth time. "How is he? How's Dean?"

The doctor finished shining a light in his eyes. "Your brother's fine. He's been awake since this morning and there seems to be no complications from his surgery."

"Surgery?" Sam shot up. Pain rolled through his head, feeling like there was a boulder on his brain. Tears sprang to his eyes, but he just blinked them away impatiently. "Why was he in surgery? Is he okay? What happened?"

"There was damage to his heart," the doctor said. "They had to do surgery to get it back in place. But he came through it just fine. No need to worry."

"Heart surgery?" Fuck. "But he's... is he going to live?"

"Unforeseen complications aside, there's no reason he shouldn't make a full recovery."

That was better news than the last time, at least. Still, he really didn't like hearing that Dean had anything wrong with his heart, not after what had happened last time.

The doctor did a few more tests on him. Questions about who he was, where he was born, family, what had happened, that sort of thing. Sam was as vague as he could on some of the answers-yes, he was injured before the crash; no, he didn't remember where how his dad had gotten shot; no, he didn't remember what happened to Dean, everything was kind of vague. If Dean was already awake, then he'd come up with a story; Sam didn't want to contradict that.

"All right. I'm going to leave you alone now. You have TV, radio. If you need anything, push this button. The first time you go to the bathroom, call for someone, just in case. There should be no problem with you getting out of bed, but just in case, we need someone there. Any questions?

Sam shook his head. "No. Thanks."

The doctor smiled, patted his arm, and left the room.

He'd no sooner lay his head back and close his eyes, exhausted, when the door opened again. Thinking the doctor had forgotten something, he sat up.

"Missouri?"

The woman smiled. "Hey, Sam. How you feeling?" She crossed the room to his bed and put her hand on his leg.

Bemused, Sam rubbed his eyes. "I'm... okay. Head hurts. Chest. Face." He gingerly touched his broken nose and winced. "But I'm fine. How are Dad and Dean? Have you seen them?"

"Yes, I've seen them both. Your daddy hasn't woke up yet."

"Yeah, they told me that. Is he..." He trailed off, not sure what to ask.

"He's not in a good way, but don't worry. We're going to get him back to normal and it'll be okay." She squeezed his leg and briefly explained about how the demon had left bits of itself inside.

It made Sam feel sick. His head throbbed and, worse, a sour taste flooded his mouth. "I didn't know they could do that."

"Don't worry, baby." She took his hand and squeezed. "It's going to be all right. Between your power and that girls brains, we'll get this sorted out in no time."

"Yeah." Then. "What girl?"

"Speaking of," she said, tone changing. "You feeling all right?"

"What? Yeah, I guess. I..."

"Your arm okay?"

"Arm? Yeah, why... Ow!" He grabbed his arm, a sharp stinging pain blossoming where she'd hit him. "What was that for?"

"How could you do this to your brother? Be so insensitive to him? I know you're a boy, and I know you were raised by John Winchester, so you're not exactly Oprah when it comes to being in touch with other's emotions, but I expected better from you."

Baffled, he asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Did that bump on your head wash away everything you've done in the past few months? Every decision you've made? Maybe a piece of paper or two you made up?"

Piece of paper... "Oh, fuck," Sam swore, lightening hitting. The girl with brains, Dean, paper... "I forgot. Crap." He covered his face. "It was a joke. It started as a joke. Dean and I were playing pranks on each other, and I found a website where you could print out wedding certificates. I was going to get her in on it, too. Make it look like they got drunk or something and married. Leave the certificate out on the dresser, wedding ring around her finger." He pulled his hands away. "And then Dean got hurt. Bad cut. Bled out faster than I could stop, and I had to take him to the hospital. It seems like, since I got back, I'm always taking him to the hospital." He licked his lips. "For some reason, I couldn't help thinking, what if I was hurt? What if I wasn't there to take care of him? Who would?"

"So you put the marriage license with the medical proxy forms you'd already filled out."

He nodded.

Missouri clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. "Sam." She pet his hair. "You should have told him. Both of them. Bad enough that girl's had the weight of you three on her shoulders, but to have to worry about how Dean was going to react when he woke up didn't help her any either."

"How did Dean take it?" He could only imagine.

"He's in love with her. Thought they really were married. Hiding the pain that they're not real good."

Something that was part surprise, part pain, and part relief sliced through him. "So, he didn't kill her?"

"Oh, they've been fighting a good bit, but it's nothing. Just the way the communicate." She squeezed his hand. "You really opened up Pandora's box with all this. You think you're ready to deal with the consequences?"

"I have to be." He licked his lips. "I just wanted to keep him safe. Be able to have someone outside of just us to rely on, if we needed it. And we did."

Missouri smiled. "Always said you were the smart one. Good thing Dean grew up handsome, otherwise there'd be no hope for him at all."

"Where is Rachel?"

"With any luck, back at the apartment she's staying at, sleeping. Most likely at the police station or the impound yard, trying to get the car. Or looking for books to figure out how we gonna help your dad. I swear, she's as bad as any Winchester I've ever met."

He smiled crookedly at that. "Well, then she'll fit right in." Feeling shaky and sick, he swiveled his legs over the side of the bed and tried awkwardly to rise. "Can you help me get to Dean's room?"

"I most certainly cannot. You get back into bed right this instant, young man. You won't be leaving this room a moment before your doctor says it's safe."

"But..."

"Samuel Winchester, you get back into bed right this instant or I will smack you so hard, that whatever pain you're feeling now will seem more like a stubbed toe." She raised her hand and gave him a death glare. "Don't think I won't do it."

He studied her a moment, then slid back into bed. "Fine. Right." He glanced at the phone on the table next to him. "Can I call him? His room, I mean?"

"I don't see why not."

He picked up the receiver. Looked at Missouri.

"Two hundred three," she supplied. Then, as he dialed, she turned from him and crossed the room to a chair.

The phone rang a few times. Sam's heart rate picked up. What if Dean had relapsed while Missouri was gone? What if something had happened to him? What if the demon came back and finished the job, ripping his heart out all at once. What if…

"Hello?"

Sam couldn't stop the smile of relief that crossed his face. The huge, dopey, dorky-looking smile. "Hey. It's me."

"Thank God. I thought you were never going to wake up. When can you get to my room? I'm going crazy here."

"I tried. I was stopped."

"Missouri?"

"Yeah."

"That bitch."

"She was just looking out for me. They don't even want me going to the bathroom without someone in here watching me."

"Yeah, well, be happy. They just took my catheter out a couple hours ago. Not a fun process, little brother. Not fun at all."

Sam winced sympathetically. "Sorry 'bout that. Better you than me, though."

"Ouch. Straight through the heart, man."

"Speaking of…"

"It's fine. I mean, it goes too slow and they think they might want to stick a pace maker inside it, but other than that, it's fine. Of course, give me any more shocks like the one I woke up to, and it'll pick up on its own."

"Shocks?" he asked innocently.

"I wake up and the doctor asks me to name all the members of my family. Easy question, you'd think, but apparently I had amnesia and forgot about my wife. And then, I had to wait for her to come in so I could even figure out if I knew her or now. That had to have been the scariest thing in my life, and I've seen the monster in the closet, Sam."

"Does it help if I assure you that I never meant you to find out that way?"

"The road to hell, Sam."

"Don't tell me that you're afraid of a girl."

"No, but I'm afraid of being tied down to something that might have a demon inside her. I figured it was a trap, like that demon inside Meg got into someone else and planned to make my life a living hell."

"I'm sure you're not that important."

"I think I liked you better asleep."

Sam snorted. "Have you warned Rachel about the demons being able to play musical humans?"

There was a pause. "You know, I don't remember. But you know, Rachel; she came figuring that demons were everywhere. She's got a cross inked on the back of her hand in permanent marker. I'm pretty sure she's drinking holy water; she blessed the water in my pitcher. And gave me a cross."

He frowned, then felt around his neck. Sure enough, a cross was hanging from it. "Me too. Still, make sure to tell her when you see her again. I have a feeling that this is far from over."

Dean sighed. When he spoke, his voice was weary. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I have that same feeling. It doesn't feel good."

"No," Sam agreed dourly. "It doesn't."

***

Once, Rachel was able to get a full eight hours sleep without being woken. She was beginning to hate her phone. If she wasn't waiting for word on Sam, she'd have turned her cell off. Not that she thought Missouri or Dean would call if her Sam woke up. She just hoped.

This time, it wasn't her cell phone that woke her. It was the door.

She didn't wake at first. The knock blended into her dream and was easily ignored. Then it got louder. Rachel opened her eyes. Her head felt heavy and fuzzed, and entire body was sore with exhaustion.

The knock changed into a pound. A muffled voice called out her name.

No. Not her name. Mrs. Winchester.

Business, then. Probably the police. Couldn't ignore that.

With a groan, she forced herself out of bed. Somehow, she felt even more exhausted than she had before she went to bed. Probably because she'd given herself downtime. Always a mistake. Once you stopped, starting up again was hard.

"Officer Schmidt," she said on opening the door. "Is something wrong?"

The officer she'd met at the hospital smiled at her pleasantly. "Nothing wrong, no. I thought I'd bring by some of your friends' clothing that was in the car." He held up a black trash bag.

Personally? That was odd. "Thank you." She reached for the bag.

He pulled it away. "May I come in?"

Rachel grabbed the door and stepped back, ready to slam it. "Um, I'm not really..."

"Great!" He took advantage of her movement by pushing past her, walking into the room. "This is a nice place," he said. He put the trash bag on the couch. "I would have expected you to stay in a hotel. I was surprised to pull up in front of an apartment building."

"I figured I'd be here for a while," she said, staying at the door. She slid her hand down to the doorknob. "My mom thought a furnished apartment would be more comfortable, especially when the guys are released from the hospital." Her heart pounded in her throat. "Officer..."

"Please, call me Adam."

She narrowed her eyes. When he moved closer to her, she could feel the air press against her skin, heavy and cold. "Officer," she said again, tightening her hand on the knob, "is there something you need to talk to me about? Other than the clothes?"

"I heard your husband woke up."

"He did. I assume you have questions for him."

"Of course."

"Tomorrow or the next day might be okay. He's really tired."

Schmidt nodded. "Of course. And how are you doing?" He took a few more steps toward her.

Rachel opened the door further, stepping partway behind it. It was minimal protection, but at least there was something between them. "Fine. A little tired. I was sleeping when you came."

"I can't imagine what you're going through." He walked over and put his hand on the door, holding it. "Have you eaten? I know a restaurant..."

"No," she gasped. Pain bloomed in her forehead, spreading out, like someone was hammering against the center. "I mean, no I haven't eaten, but I can't go out. It'd be, uh, a little inappropriate."

"I don't see how. It's not like I'm asking you on a date." He smiled and leaned closer.

The pain sparked brightly. "Aren't you investigating my husband?"

"Not exactly. Just trying to get a clear picture of what happened the night he was injured, that's all. And it'd hardly be gentlemanly if I let an investigation get in the way of making sure a beautiful young lady takes care of herself."

"I've got a friend. She's with the boys right now, but she should be home any minute."

"Are you sure..."

"Officer Schmidt, you need to leave," Rachel said, voice firm. "Right now. You're making me uncomfortable and I want you gone."

"But..."

"Go."

He sighed, but nodded. "I'm sorry. I never intended to upset you. Only to offer a hand." Before she could move, he reached out and touched her cheek gently.

Rachel yanked away and pushed the door closed. Schmidt allowed himself to be ushered out with it.

Two locks and a chain weren't enough. She was shaking. Her head pounded. She felt like she was going to throw up.

There was something wet on her upper lip. Her fingers came away with blood.

Heart thundering, Rachel crossed the living room. Ran to the window. Watched as the police officer climbed into his car and drove away.

Safer. She went to the bathroom and held tissue after tissue to her nose. As the pain in her head faded from sharply nauseating to dull and annoying, the flow slowed until it was a trickle and stopped.

Her reflection was pale. Dark circles were under her eyes. Her hands shook.

Not stopping to change clothes, Rachel grabbed her purse and practically flew the ten blocks to the hospital.

"Dean!" He wasn't in his bed. He wasn't there. What had happened, where...

"Jesus, what happened?"

And then she was in his arms. He had her, tightly, face in her hair, holding her while she tried to shake apart. Her chest burned with each gasp, down her chest, fire in her lungs. Sweat on her face, her back. Her shirt clung to her.

"Shhh. Calm down." Dean stepped back a couple steps and sat. He pulled her onto his lap, stroking her hair. "Breathe."

"I...I...I...I am," she gasped. Her head spun.

"No, you're not. Breathe, damnit."

She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. Her face was pressed into the crook of his neck. When she breathed in deep, she could smell the horrible, dull tang of antibiotic hospital soap. It was gross. Worse than if he smelled like body odor or something. At least then he'd smell like Dean.

She pressed harder into him, searching for skin that smelled like him.

"Uh." Dean cleared his throat. His fingers tightened on her hips. "Um, babe? Maybe you could stop? Wiggling and... nuzzling? Unless you're ready to take care of that whole virginity thing while I'm hooked up to a heart monitor, that is."

Startled, Rachel lifted her head. Dean's face was close, eyes dark.

She licked her lips.

Dean exhaled hard and moved in. Kissed her. Lips moving over hers, tongue inside her mouth, petting, stroking. Hands on her back, under her shirt, chasing drops of sweat that had rolled down, stroking them over her skin.

"You okay?" he asked, breaking the kiss. He was breathing heavily. Probably overstrained.

"Yeah. Just freaked." She licked her lips. "One of the cops I talked to the other day came by the apartment."

"You didn't let him in, did you?"

"He pushed by me. He didn't do anything, just... Brought by your guys' clothes. Asked me to dinner. Stupid, but he freaked me out."

"He asked you to dinner."

"Yeah."

"He asked you, my wife, to dinner."

She swallowed. "Yeah."

"What the hell, man?"

"I don't know. I don't know." Rachel rested her head on Dean's shoulder and closed her eyes.

He pulled her head away from his shoulder and studied her face. "What's with the blood?" His thumb brushed over the skin just above her upper lip.

"Oh." She touched it. "Um, I got a bloody nose. After the guy left."

"Anything else?"

"My head hut. Every time he moved closer to me, the pain got worse. I thought I was going to throw up, and then it faded."

"When he left."

"Yeah." She got off his lap and went into the small bathroom. There was blood staining her lips, chin, nostrils. She couldn't even remember if she'd washed her face before she'd left, she'd been in such a panic to get out of there. Dean must think she was even more of a moron than he usually did.

"That's better," Dean said when she came back out. He was standing, slowly shuffling to the bed. "Does your head still hurt?"

"A little. Not as bad."

"Come here." He climbed onto the bed. Exhaled hard as he leaned against the upright back.

She hesitated, still feeling stupid. This whole day was insane. Cassie, Missouri, Dean, and now this officer. Everything was overwhelming, but that didn't mean she should fall apart the way she was doing. She needed to pull herself together, fast.

Dean pulled the blanket over him. He frowned at her. "Come here."

Now she hesitated because she didn't want him to think she followed orders. How dare he? Who did he think he was? He was her husband--and a pretend one--not her master.

Then a wave of dizziness spun her head. Maybe sitting down wasn't a bad idea.

Trying not to look like she was doing what he told her, Rachel went to the bed and climbed on. "Any word on Sam?"

Dean's arm snaked around her and pulled her onto his shoulder. "He woke up right after you left. He's fine."

"He's awake?" She moved to rise, but he yanked her back down.

"No, you stay here. You can see him when you calm down."

"Dean..."

"Have you eaten?"

She shook her head. "No, I slept through dinner I guess."

"And lunch."

"Probably. I don't remember. Where's Missouri?"

"She went out for food. She said she was going to go by your place to feed you." He frowned, thumb idly stroking her shoulder. "Maybe we should call."

Rachel laughed at his tone and turned her head. "You don't sound very excited by that idea."

"Dude, I just got rid of her. I was enjoying the silence."

Her lips quirked. "I bet you were. The two of you are kind of contentious, aren't you?"

He wrinkled his nose. "Ah, don't go pulling out your big college words on me. According to her, I'm just some dumb, goofy looking kid who can't do anything right."

"Poor baby." She kissed him gently.

"Well, if you keep treating me so good," Dean whispered, mouth inches from hers, "then it won't matter." His eyes closed, eyelashes brushed against her cheeks. Then his mouth was on hers again, warm and wet. Hand strong on her neck, holding her. The other one sliding up her arm, squeezing, pulling her closer, half on-top of him.

"Boy, don't you think that girl deserves a proper wedding night?"

Dean's hand tightened on her arm, hurting her. His kiss grew more intense, and he didn't stop.

Rachel gasped, entire body warming. Her toes curled as Dean's kissed grew more... more... She couldn't even think of the word. Passionate, intense, hot, sexy, perfect. Everything. Missouri's eyes were hard on the back of her head, and she felt terrifically embarrassed and, yet, she couldn't get enough.

A throat cleared. Not Missouri's.

"Um... dinner."

It felt like she was tearing herself apart from Dean. Like they'd been stuck together, fused, more themselves as one than as two separate people.

She all but rolled off the bed and onto the floor.

An orderly stood just inside, dinner cart in front of her. She was blushing.

So was Rachel.

And the nurse stood right behind the orderly. He looked smug. As did Missouri.

"Are you, uh. Going to examine him or anything?" she asked Alex, the nurse.

He nodded. "Just a quick vitals check, then help him with his first solid meal since waking up."

Dean's hand snaked out and wrapped around her wrist. He squeezed.

She turned, ready to tell him that she was going to check on Sam, but the look in his eyes stopped her. His eyes clearly said, "stay."

Rachel sighed and glanced at Missouri. The woman was holding a Wendy's bag. It smelled good.

Missouri suddenly stiffened. "Come here, Rachel. You let the man look your husband over. You come stand with me."

Dean let her go, allowing Rachel to cross the room to Missouri. The woman immediately stroked her hand through Rachel's hair, eyes closed tight.

"Oh dear," she sighed softly, just for Rachel's ear. "That demon is on the prowl. Hurt. Weakened. But trying hard like hell to get to you."

Rachel swallowed. "Why me?"

Missouri cocked her eyebrow. "To stop you from helping the Winchesters, of course. And because there's a lot a demon like him could accomplish in a girl like you. You'd be a real good place for him to gather his strength after he gets in. He just needs to get inside." She sighed and shook her head. "And we've definitely got to stop him from getting in."

***

"Psst. Dean." Sam shook his brother, careful not to dislodge any of the millions of wires and needles sticking out of him. "Dean, wake up."

Dean was slow to wake. He normally was, to a certain extent, but this was different. This was sickness and exhaustion and... his heart. Hunter's instincts, completely and totally trashed.

"Hey," Dean rasped when his eyes were open. They were unfocused. Blurry. "Was wondering when you'd get here."

"Sorry, man. The nurses in this place are hard to doge." He pulled a chair to Dean's bed, wincing when it scraped on the floor. "Does Missouri know she's here?" he asked, nodding at Rachel, who was curled on another chair, fast asleep.

Dean shook his head. "You hear any shouting?"

"Point." He sat, arms on the edge of Dean's bed, hands clasped in front of him, eyes on Dean's face. Gazing and studying every detail, unable to trust the doctor's, Missouri's, or Rachel's assessment of Dean's health. No one else knew him like he did. Their opinions didn't count. "Christ, dude, you look like shit."

"And you, Sammy, look like the world's scariest raccoon." He poked Sam on the shoulder. "Glass houses, man. They shatter."

Sam rolled his eyes. Grabbed Dean's hand. Squeezed it. "I'm glad you're okay."

"You're glad? I'm the one who had to sit around all day, waiting to see if you were ever going to wake up. And then I had to wait here for you to figure out where I was."

"Rachel drew me a map."

His brother snorted and rolled his eyes. "Some world renown tracker psychic ... person thing you are."

"Are you high?"

"Oh. I'm floating, man. My chest started hurting, and it turns out that this wiring in my chest sorta... popped or something. Anyway, they fiddled around or something, and upped my morphine." He held up a little tube and pressed a button. "Ah. Morphine."

Sam laughed, but eased the tube from his brother's hand. "All right, Dean, let's not get addicted, okay? You remember the great marshmallow Peep addiction of '91, right?"

"Dude." Dean shuddered, eyes falling shut. "You swore never to mention that again."

"And I wouldn't, but it serves as a lesson. We know what you're like when you're addicted to something. Think of your hospital stay as the weeks leading up to Easter. And think of being checked out as the day after."

"No, the day after is the best. Peeps go down in price."

"Right. I forgot. That's when the real addiction began." It was Sam's turn to shudder. "So. Morphine is like Peeps. So. Don't use too much."

"Or your mouth'll turn pink," Rachel muttered from the chair.

"I only eat the yellow ones, darlin'," Dean drawled. He reached out his hand to her. Well, actually, sort of flopped it out in her direction.

Rachel, without actually opening her eyes or lifting her head, scooted the chair closer to the bed. Her head flopped on the bed. Her hand took Dean's and squeezed. "Cavities."

"She's not even awake."

"Naw." Dean pet Rachel's hair. "Isn't she cute all sleepy and stupid?"

She flipped them off.

"So," Sam said, voice dropping. "What are we going to do about Dad?"

"Brainiac here is going to start researching tomorrow to find something to get the demon bits out of him. Missouri thinks we have a good chance at him. And once they're out, he'll probably wake up."

"Okay, yeah, but... is it really that simple? I mean, those demons were just... leaping from body to body a last week. Every time we turned around, it seemed like there was another possessed person."

"So?"

"So where they all now? Why aren't they here trying to help out Daddy or whatever?"

"They probably can't," Rachel said. She lifted her head and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "They probably don't know where he is. You shot him with that gun. I talked with my dad earlier. He's heard of the Colt, and said that, even if it wasn't a direct hit, the bullet was enough to seriously injure the demon. It's kind of like he's lying in some hospital bed somewhere, just out of heart surgery, addicted to morphine."

"I'm not addicted."

She smiled and squeezed his hand. "Anyway, I'm thinking that he's injured enough that he's off the radar. His minions or kids or whatever can't find him. At least not until he regains strength."

"Which he's trying to get from you," Sam said.

"Among others."

"Oh, I have an idea!" Dean sat up, waving one hand in the air.

"Oh shit," Rachel groaned.

"Okay, see, I can't sleep with her because, no matter how much she wiggles, I can't get it up, right? It's the heart thing, man. If it beats too slow..." Dean patted his chest a couple times, then shook his head. "Anyway, Sam. Sammy, you need to step up, okay?" He grabbed Sam's hand and squeezed. "You gotta take one for the family, all right? Just, you know. Tape it or something, because this girl? Mine, and I get to at least see okay?"

"Dean, for the last time, the virginity thing is not why it's after me!" Rachel snapped. "Stop offering me out, okay?"

"Oh God," said Sam.

"Yeah. So far, he's asked the nurse, the doctor, and some random guy visiting his wife down the hall to sleep with me. Morphine and Dean is a bad, bad combination."

"And yet, still better than the Peeps." Sam reached across the bed and took Rachel's hand. "I am so, so sorry."

"Oh, don't worry. You will pay."

Sam smirked and mock shivered at her words. "So. This demon's after you, though."

She shrugged. "I guess. It can't possess you because of your powers, and Missouri thinks that it can't get Dean, either, although she's not sure why. Not that it'd want him right now, since he's not in the best of shape. Same with your dad."

"That still doesn't explain why you."

"Because of my grandfather. I'm not psychic myself, but I've got some residual powers in my blood."

"Maybe that's why everything always wants you. That picture-ghost and the fox," Dean said.

Rachel nodded. "Maybe. Anyway, if this demon gets inside me, it can just... curl up and feed off me. It probably wouldn't even need to possess me, in the end. I mean, can't it make its own form?"

Sam frowned and rubbed his forehead. "I don't... know. I guess."

"Yeah," Dean said, opening his eyes. "I think it can."

"So it didn't really need your dad's body, except to get the gun. And it only needs me to feed. And maybe hide until it's strong enough to, you know. Take control. Get close to you and take advantage." Rachel licked her lips. "Kill you."

"I don't think it wants to kill me, necessarily," Sam said. "It was after me. After kids like me. I don't know why, but I almost think it's trying to...collect us."

"Then why not take you?"

Sam shrugged. "Question of the hour." He sighed. "My head hurts."

"Join the club." Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose. "Anyway, it seems like the demon's latched onto that police officer for now. Hasn't possessed him, but is hanging around him. As long as I avoid him and recognize the warning signs, it should be okay."

"Warning signs?"

"Pressure, headache, nosebleed. That stuff." She glanced at Dean. "He's asleep. He probably won't be for long. It seems like he keeps waking every few minutes."

Sam lay his head on the bed and closed his eyes. "I wish I was drugged. My head won't stop whirling, you know?"

He felt Rachel's fingers stroke his hair gently.

"The coma sucked. I kept dreaming. Visions. People in the hospital, I think. Going into surgery. Things that went wrong. How they got hurt. Who was going to die. But I could never see Dean or Dad. I knew they were near and that they were hurt, but I couldn't find them. Couldn't see anything about them." He squeezed his eyes tighter. "I hate this power."

"Once you figure out…"

"No. I don't want to figure it out." He lifted his head. "I don't want them. Because of me, my mom and girlfriend are dead. Because that demon wanted me."

"That doesn't make it your fault."

"Oh really? Why not?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I miss the part where you not only asked for these powers, but sought them out at the expense of all others? Where you were so selfish that you demanded to have the ability to read people's minds and whatnot? Because, yeah, then? Totally your fault."

He clenched his jaw.

Rachel rose from her chair and walked to Sam's side of the bed. "You're a victim of circumstance, too, you know." She stood behind him. Her fingers combed through his hair, massaging his head.

The ache faded as she rubbed in strong, steady circles. "It's not fair, any of it. You didn't ask to be special, but at six months old, it was hardly your fault. And I'm sure that, given the choice to do it again, your mom would have done what she could to protect you."

"She shouldn't have had to."

"Maybe not. But that's what mothers do. Of course she would have preferred not being put in that position. She would have preferred a son with no powers and a long life, watching you and Dean grow up together, happy and not fighting everything that goes bump in the night. But it's not what happened."

He blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to clear his vision. "Jessica…"

"No. That wasn't fair." She trailed his hands down to his neck and squeezed. "But that's why you need to start getting a handle on your powers. They must be good for something. If the demon wants them, then there must be a way to use them against him, right?"

"It'd just be easier if I didn't have to worry about them."

"Yeah, well. Isn't there some quote about that? From "Lord of the Rings" or something?"

"All that is gold does not glitter," Dean said suddenly. "Not all those who wander are lost."

Sam smiled at Rachel's giggles. They literally burst out, first as a snort through her nose, then as delighted laughter. It was funny. And infectious.

"Well," she said, "yeah, that comes from the book. But I meant the one where Frodo says that he wish he didn't have the ring, and Gandalf says that everyone who has to live through bad times wishes the same thing."

Dean blinked at her. "Does anyone ever live through happy times?"

"Someone must have. Sometime."

"At least," Sam added, "we hope."

***

The hospital was strangely quiet. Everything seemed dark. Fuzzy around the edges. Rachel walked down the hall to Sam's room, feeling like she was invisible. Not one doctor or nurse acknowledged her presence. Usually, she couldn't step one foot on the floor without someone saying hello to her, asking about Dean, asking after her own health. They all felt she spent too much time at the hospital, neglecting her own health. That made them over attentive to her.

Not today, apparently. Today, not one person even looked at her.

Sam was standing at the window of his room. She could see his profile, tense, frustrated, the norm since he woke up. He was recovering faster than Dean, and the doctor said he'd be released soon. Still, he felt helpless, stuck here, unable to help either his dad or his brother. He was trapped.

"Morning," Rachel said. She closed the door behind her, crossed the dim room.

"Hey." Sam turned Reached out for her. Ran his fingers through her hair. "How'd you sleep? Did you sleep?"

She nodded. "Eight full hours."

"Did you eat?"

"Yes, that too."

"Good. I've been worried. You don't take care of yourself. You're wasting away."

She punched him lightly in the stomach. "Hardly that. You worry too much."

Sam snorted. "What else can I do? I'm stuck here with nothing but worry. I worry about Dean, about Dad. About you." He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. "That thing is after all of us. After you."

"I'm fine. I've warded the apartment. I'm wearing a cross at all times. Every morning I go down to the church and get a new cross inked and blessed." She held up her hand. Frowned. The cross was gone.

He took her hand. Kissed the spot the cross was supposed to be. "I know, it's just..."

This was wrong. Something was wrong. The air was too heavy. She couldn't breathe. She was hot and... her stomach squirmed with something like arousal. "Sam..."

"Rachel," Sam breathed. His hands came to her neck, cupping her face. "Maybe you should go home. Where it's safe."

"I don't think anywhere is safe." She knew she should do something. Push him away. Scream. Anything.

But she couldn't, and then... and then he was kissing her. Backing her to the bed. Laying her out and covering her body with his own and, God, he was a lot bigger than Dean. Bigger than Kit. Strong. So strong it felt like he was crushing her. She couldn't breathe, and she was so hot. On fire, and it didn't feel good. But she couldn't feel anything, not Sam's mouth, even though she knew it was on hers, and not his hands, although she could see them canvassing her body, not the press of his hips, even though there was a pressure so strong on her pelvis that she could feel the vibrations, the shocks, the pleasure radiating and...

"Ah!" Rachel cried out, shooting upright in bed. Sweat poured down her face, obscuring her vision. She rubbed her eyes, scrubbed at her face. Came away with wetness only half sweat.

"Oh, fuck," she swore, seeing the blood on her hands. No wonder she hadn't been able to breathe. Goddamn demon.

She climbed out of bed, glancing at her alarm clock. The clock was blank. No power. She tried the TV, the lights, all to the same effects. The power had been blown.

Wiping her nose off on her shirt, Rachel searched the apartment for the fuse box. Sure enough, one of the breakers had blown. Swearing, she flipped it right, then went to the bathroom to wash up.

She didn't want to think about the dream.

There was a note for her in the kitchen, from Missouri.

"Didn't want to wake you, since you were finally sleeping. I should be back from Lawrence tomorrow morning with my supplies. You be good and make sure your husband keeps it in his pants. Girl like you deserves flowers and romance, not a quick tumble in between nurse visits. Call if there's any problems. I'll know if you don't. Missouri."

Rachel rolled her eyes and grabbed a muffin. "She acts as if Dean and I can't keep our hands off each other," she muttered. It wasn't true. Yes, Rachel did most of her research on Dean's bed, and, yes, Dean was a very tactile person, but it wasn't like that. They were just friends. Friends pretending to be married.

A friend who was falling completely and totally in love with him. But that was beside the point. And that was just her. Dean was just high.

She got dressed, grabbed her books and computer, and her cell phone. The phone was dead.

"What the hell?" She tried to turn it on, but it wouldn't go. Rolling her eyes, she dug through the apartment for the charger and plugged it in. She could come back for it later. Until then, she'd use Dean's phone.

Which was also dead. "Fuck!"

Whatever, she had to go. She'd overslept.

Why had she dreamed about Sam? Not that he was unattractive or anything, but, well. He wasn't Dean. He wasn't who she wanted. And Sam certainly didn't want her either, not like that. He'd been calling her his little sister practically since they met. It was almost incestuous to dream of him like that.

Not to mention creepy. And disloyal.

Not that she could be blamed for where her subconscious took her, right? These days, she was so sexually frustrated, it was no wonder. And she'd never been like this in her life before. Not until Dean... Not until this stupid marriage and them pretending and putting on a show for the doctors. And Dean and his kisses and the way his hands grabbed her, especially when showing Missouri that he could do what he wanted.

And Rachel agreed. One hundred percent. Dean could do whatever he wanted to her, no complaints.

If only he could. If only his heart would pick up, just a few more beats. If only he would heal, get better. Be able to do what it was he kept teasing her with.

Although, that was another problem. Teasing. It was probably just that. Oh, she knew he found her attractive, but Dean wouldn't do anything about it. Not with her. It would never work.

Even though she wanted it to work.

Rachel made it to the hospital and tried to shake off the depression that was taking her. There were bigger things to worry about right now than her sex life, or lack of. John was still in a coma. They still hadn't found out how to get the demon out of him. Plus, the demon was obviously still after them. After her. Her personal life was secondary to all of that.

"Good morning!" she sang as cheerily as she could, entering Dean's room. "Sorry I'm late, I..."

Dean turned from the woman sitting next to him. His hand was in hers, a soft smile on his face. "Hey, you," he said to Rachel. His smile seemed to widen, eyes brighten, but Rachel barely saw him. All she could see was the other woman.

Tall. A riot of curly black hair that framed a beautifully shaped oval face. Big eyes. Full lips. Perfect skin. Impeccably dressed. Like a model.

And grown up, too. Completely composed, self-possessed. Confident. Perfect.

The woman smiled and let go of Dean's hand. "Hi. You must be Rachel." She stood and held her hand out. Over Dean's bed. "I'm Cassie."

Stupidly, Rachel stumbled closer to the bed. Maneuvered the books and her bag so she could reach out and grasp Cassie's hand in hers. "Hi. Nice to meet you."

"I tried calling you this morning. I thought it'd be more polite to get in contact with you. Make sure Dean was well enough to receive visitors. But I got your voice mail, so I just came." She smiled down at Dean. "Luckily, Dean was in a lot better shape than I thought he'd be."

"Yeah. Uh, my phone went dead. Battery." She put her computer bag on the floor. Books on the bed. She didn't know what else to say.

"You all right?" Dean asked. He took her hand. "You look kind of pale."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I just... need coffee. Do you need coffee? Do you?" she asked, looking at Cassie.

Cassie shook her head. "No, thank you. I'm fine."

"Coffee would be good." He squeezed he hand. "You sure you're okay? No... problems?"

She plastered a smile on her face. "I'm fine. Look, I'm going to run down to the cafeteria. And see Sam. Get started. I'll be back in a few. It was nice meeting you, Cassie. I'm glad you could come."

Cassie smiled at her. "You too."

She grabbed her bag and books. Started to lean down to kiss Dean, then realized that was stupid. "Be back."

"Mrs. Winchester!" a nurse said as Rachel fled down the hall.

Rachel turned, trying to keep back her tears. "Yes?"

The nurse approached. Rose, that was her name. Nice lady. A little harsh at times, but her heart was in the right place.

"Are you all right?" She moved over to Rachel. Took her arm.

"I'm fine," Rachel said, wincing. Her head ached with trying to hold back the tears. "Just... having a bad day."

"Is this about the woman in with your husband? Looks like an old lover to me. You sure you want to leave them alone?"

"I trust him," Rachel said, voice cracking. "And her."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'm just... like I said. Emotional today."

"Getting your period?"

Please, say that louder. "I don't... maybe."

"Maybe you're pregnant." Rose smiled. Beamed. "Wouldn't that be a nice surprise for your man?"

Rachel snorted. "Oh, yeah. That's definitely be a surprise. Look, thanks. I feel better. But I need to go see Sam. You know how he is."

"Oh, yes, I know," Rose said, rolling her eyes. "Better get up there before he runs away again. They really need to release that boy. If he's well enough to sneak out at all hours, the he's well enough to go home."

"That what he thinks." She squeezed Rose's arm, then backed away. "I'll talk to you later."

Cassie was here. Dean's ex. The woman Dean loved. The only girl that he'd loved that he'd slept with. She was here.

Damn.

Rachel blinked tears from her eyes. It'd be easier if Cassie wasn't so pretty, or if she'd seemed mean or something. But she'd been nice and friendly. Like someone Rachel wouldn't mind being friends with. Which meant that she was the kind of woman Rachel thought Dean would be good with. More than her. Dean deserved someone... grown up. Confident. Sexually experienced. Not someone like Rachel.

"Hey," Rachel said softly. She leaned against the door in Sam's room and dropped her things.

Sam was standing at the window. He turned. "Hey. You okay?"

She looked up at him. Immediately, images from her dream flooded her mind.

Heat filled her face and she looked away. God, this was the worst day ever. "Yeah." Her voice was really high.

She cleared her throat and tried again. "Yeah, I'm fine." She licked her lips. "Cassie's here. Visiting Dean. I was just there."

"Oh." Then, "Wait, you're not worried, are you?"

"No." Yes. "What would I be worried about?"

"That, I don't know. Dean would want Cassie. To go back to her or something."

She shook her head. "Why would I care? I mean..."

"Because you're in love with him."

"No I'm not."

"He's in love with you, you know."

"No he's not."

"Rachel." Sam crossed the room and put his hands on her arms. "I did that marriage certificate made out the way I did for a reason, you know. The two of you have been flirting like mad since you first met. You all but got together the last time, and probably would have, if he'd not freaked out. He loves you."

"He's attracted to me. There's a difference."

He sighed. "Cassie's his past. I'm sure he's over her by now."

She looked up at him. "Right. Because it's so easy to get over someone you were in love with. How silly of me to forget that."

"Rachel." He sighed again and put his arms around her, pulling her into a hug.

They both stiffened at the same time. Pulled away at the same time. Rachel crossed her arms over her chest and found she couldn't look at Sam. She couldn't tell what he thought or was doing, but it seemed like he was embarrassed too.

"Um," she said.

"Uh. So, uh."

"Research. We really need to... you know. Research."

"Right. I'll take the computer. And that one book I had yesterday."

She nodded. Picked up her stuff. "I'll just... sit over here." She moved to the chair pulled furthest from Sam's bed.

"Yeah. I'll be here." He took the computer. Set it up.

The both got to work, but Rachel found it hard to concentrate. It felt too much like the air was laughing around her.

***

"So I'm thinking about moving to St. Louis," Cassie said. "Roger's been offered a residency at Washington University. I've been sending my articles and resume out to different papers. Haven't heard anything yet, but... You're not even listening anymore, are you?"

"Huh?" Dean looked away from the door. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair he was in. "I'm sorry, what?"

Cassie shook her head. Her eyes rolled and she smiled an exasperated sort of smile that Dean vividly recalled. "You haven't heard a word I've said for the past fifteen minutes."

Crap. Although, she didn't seem angry, at least. Still, never a good idea, not listening to Cassie. She was... formidable.

He rubbed his eyes. Grabbed a pillow from the bed; his chest and back were beginning to hurt. Probably time to lie back down. "Sorry. Just... I'm wondering where Rachel went. If she just went for coffee, no way she should be this long."

"Didn't she say she was going to see Sam? Maybe she's with him," Cassie suggested.

"Maybe." He fidgeted with the pillow. Shifted in his seat. "Anyway, sorry. You were saying?"

"It's okay. How about you talk now? I think I've been monopolizing the conversation."

Dean waved his hand in front of him and shook his head. "Naw, it's fine. So, how is Robert anyway?"

"Roger, and, as I said, he's doing fine." Cassie cocked her head. "Tell me about Rachel?"

"She's not here." He knew he was whining, but he was in pain and it hurt to breathe and without Rachel here, he was cut out of the loop. He wanted to know what was going on. And he hadn't gotten to say hi to her properly that morning.

"Is she your girlfriend?"

"What? No. No, she's not. I mean... no. Not my girlfriend." He shook his head. And then twisted his wedding ring around his finger.

Cassie saw it. Her eyes widened. "Holy crap, she's your wife?"

"Cassie!" Dean hissed. He glanced at the door, then leaned closer to her. The movement brought a knifing pain to his chest. He winced. "No, not really. But Sam made a marriage license for us for some reason, and the hospital thinks we are. And the insurance company." He shrugged. "She's hella rich, and Sam and me don't exactly have the money to cover all the medical costs."

"And that's the only reason you and she are pretending to be married." Her voice held a world of doubt.

He wasn't going to blush. That wasn't his thing. But he couldn't shrug, either, so he just said, "It's complicated."

"Things are with you, aren't they?"

He rolled his eyes. Putting the pillow back on the bed, he eased himself out of the chair. "We met working on a case. She helped us out, we helped her out. Went back a few months later and worked together again."

"She knows about that... ghost stuff?"

"Yeah. Family's been in the business for years." He climbed back into bed. His heart was throbbing in an attempt to pound with exertion. So fucking weak, Goddamn it.

"She's pretty."

Fucking gorgeous, but he wasn't going to get into semantics. Instead, he cocked his head to the side-didn't hurt as much as a shrug-and said, "I guess."

She had one of those knowing smiles on her face, all superior and stuff. The way women get when they think they know something. The kind of smile that Dean fucking hated. "Dean Winchester not notice a pretty girl? Stop the presses, the world is coming to an end."

"Very funny, Cassie. You are hilarious." He was breathing all heavy. Sweating, too. And it was definitely naptime.

"You better make sure she knows that there's nothing left between us," Cassie said. "She looked flustered earlier. Upset. I wouldn't want her to think..."

"No reason why she should be upset," Dean said.

"Does she know you like her?"

"Cassie..."

"Dean." Cassie leaned forward and took his hand. "Look, I know you like to think you're some great Casanova and everything, but the fact is, you're not very good with women. You flirted like mad with me, but I was the one who had to finally make the first move."

"You did not."

She laughed. "Did too. You never would have asked me out had I not mentioned how much I'd been dying to see "Jaws" on the big screen. And then you stepped up, just like I'd intended, and asked me out. Finally."

"That is not the way it happened."

"That is totally the way it happened, darling. You had to be led into the relationship, which was fine, only it doesn't look like Rachel gets that. So I'm telling you now, you better make sure that girl knows how crazy you are about her." She raised her eyebrows and leaned in. "You are crazy about her, right?"

Dean closed his eyes. "Cassie..."

"Lunchtime!" Nurse Rose announced cheerily, bustling into the room. She clicked her tongue almost right away. "Now, Dean, you don't look very good. What's the matter, honey?"

He sighed. Let his hand drop from his eyes. "I'm fine. Sore. Sat too long, that's all."

"That's not good. You can't go overtaxing yourself, young man. Not with a family to support."

He blinked at her. "A family?"

She just smiled and set about writing his vitals on his chart as the orderly set up his lunch tray.

"I should go." Cassie rose and dropped a kiss on his forehead. "Think about what I said, Dean."

"I will," he promised. "Thanks for coming."

"I'll be back tomorrow before I leave to say good-bye." She smiled, grabbed her purse, and left.

"Old girlfriend?" Rose asked once Cassie was gone.

Dean sighed. He clicked his morphine wand. He'd lasted the whole morning without a hit, but he really needed one now. "Yeah, she is. Do you know where Rachel is? I haven't seen her all morning."

"I think she's with your brother. Ran out of here all upset." She looked at Dean accusingly.

He thought about turning his charm on her, but it took too much effort. Instead, he reached for the phone and dialed Sam's number.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, it's me. Send Rachel back down."

"She already left. Went to see Dad."

"No, she's not supposed to see Dad. Remember? The... thing?" He shot a glance at Rose, who was now filling up his water pitcher.

"We might have found something."

"Yeah. So she went to try it out right now?"

"Well, no, but... I tried to tell her not to go, but she didn't listen. She was all upset about something." He paused a beat. "What happened with Cassie?"

Crap. "Uh, nothing. We talked. Well, she did. Said something about her boyfriend Robert getting a job somewhere and moving or something. Why didn't you go with her?"

"Uh." Sam stuttered a minute. "Um. Well, uh. Things were weird between us this morning."

"Why?"

"I really don't want to talk about it."

"What's going on, Sam?" Sam was always so easy to read. When he got that tone of voice, he was hiding something because he was afraid of Dean's reaction. Problem was, and the thing Sam never seemed to get, was hiding it just made everything worse.

"Dean..."

"Just tell me."

Sam sighed. Then cleared his throat. "I sort of had a dream about Rachel this morning."

"Like one of those dreams? Like she's in danger? Did you tell her? What happened? What..."

"No, not like that. Not like she was in danger." Guilt. Heavy, heavy guilt.

What the...

Oh.

He cleared his throat. "You had..." Again, he looked at Rose. She was almost done, so he waited until she smiled, patted him on the head, and left. Then, lowering his voice to a hiss, he said, "You had a sex dream about my girl?"

"Okay, first, she's not your girl until she actually knows that she's your girl. You seriously have got to tell her how you feel, because she's so insecure about it, it's pathetic."

"Sam..."

"Tell her."

"Why are you having sex dreams about her?"

Sam snorted. "I have no idea."

Dean frowned. "What, you're saying you don't think she's attractive or something?"

"Do you want me to?"

"No!"

"Then why are you asking?"

"I don't ... Do you want her?"

"I don't think so. I think of her as a sister, I swear, Dean. Even when we first met, and I thought she was pretty, she still fell into that platonic category. And not just because the two of you were sparking like mad from the very first second."

"Were not."

"Whatever, dude. Anyway, I'm weirded out by this, okay? I don't want to think of her in that way. It'd be like... like thinking about you like that."

"Hey, I happen to be a very attractive man. Even to other men."

"Do you really want to get into this, or is it the morphine talking?"

He thought about it. "A little of both."

"I'll be down later, okay? They gotta be letting me out of this place soon."

"Okay. You get lunch yet?" Dean picked at the sorry excuse for a sandwich and poked the salad.

"Yeah, it's sitting in front of me. I think it might be evil."

"Mine, too. Man, I want out of here."

"Ditto. Later."

Dean hung up. Tried the salad. It barely had a taste at all.

"Hey."

He looked up. Rachel was in the door, tray in hand. Real food was on the tray. Coffee, too.

"I hit the cafeteria on my way here," she said. "Don't quite get why they can cook a good meal and not get one up here, but it's food."

"You're a goddess." Dean shoved his lunch to the side and pat the bed next to him. "I missed you."

She snorted. "You did not. You had company all morning." Rachel climbed on the bed next to him and set the tray down.

He grabbed the sandwich; roast beef. Thick slices on a roll, just the way he liked it. "Cassie's not you."

"Yeah, but..."

He turned his head and looked at her. "She's not your, moron." Then he leaned in and kissed her. One hand behind her neck. Mouth open. Coaxing her tongue into his mouth. Stroking that soft, sensitive patch behind her ear that always made her make that little gasping sound that he loved. "Hey," he whispered, breathed against her mouth. "You’re my girl, right?"

Her eyes opened. Cheeks flushed. Lips curled into a delighted smile, like she couldn't stop herself. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah."

"Good."

***

"Okay, so, what do you have for me?" Dean asked, rubbing his hands together briskly.

"Why is it," Sam asked, moving from the wheelchair they'd brought him down in to a chair, "me and Rachel are doing all the work while you play team leader?"

"One word. Morphine." Dean batted his eyes at his brother, winning smile on his face.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Ah. You make a good point."

"So?" He moved his gaze from Sam to Rachel, who was perched on the edge of the bed, a large book in her lap. Her hair was mussed, lips swollen, and eyes glowing.

Looks like Dean had taken his advice. Thank God. The tension between the two of them had been ridiculous. Well, not so much the tension, but Rachel's insecurity. The way she kept pretending that she didn't care if Dean loved her or not, even though it was obviously killing her not knowing. Now she knew.

And she looked beautiful.

Crap. Stop it, Sam, he warned himself. His relationship with Dean was hazardous enough without Sam suddenly pining after the one girl who Dean had ever gone after who knew about their life before. And, anyway, Sam didn't want her.

He just had no idea why he couldn't stop thinking about her.

"We're going to trap it in a Pandora's Box," Rachel was saying. She turned the pages in the book and passed it over to Dean.

"Pandora's Box? Like the think from that Greek story with all that dark shit in it?" Dean said. He frowned down at the page.

Sam nodded. "Sort of. Turns out, like most myths, there's some basis to it. In ancient times, people-priests and stuff-would construct boxes made of oak with a glass panel on one side. They'd use the boxes to trap demons inside."

"Sometimes, one box could hold up to a hundred demons or so."

"How big were the boxes?"

Rachel shrugged. "I don't know. The one we'll make won't have to be big. It's not even going to hold a demon, just bits of one."

Dean frowned and rubbed the back of his head. "And you're sure it'll work? I mean, how will it get the demon parts out? A spell or incantation or what?"

"The box works as a magnet, if constructed properly," said Sam.

"So why don't people use it in exorcisms all the time? I mean, sounds like it's just what we could have used on that plane, you know? Or with Meg." Dean cocked his eyebrow and shrugged. Then he winced and inhaled hard before dousing himself with another dose of morphine. "It seems to easy."

Rachel put her hand on his shoulder and rubbed. "Well, Pandora's boxes aren't well known. I've never heard about them until I came across it in the book. The book comes from Greece; it belongs to my great aunt two times removed or something. My dad borrowed it from her for something he was working on. When I got the call, he threw everything he could into the trunk of my car. I almost didn't unpack it because it's written in Greek..."

"Thank God!" Dean exclaimed. His head feel back. "I thought I was going crazy."

"No one's saying you aren't," Sam said.

He scowl at Sam, then turned to Rachel. "You read Greek?"

She nodded. "I'm not great, but I know it. I speak a bit, too."

Dean smiled at her and said, "I'd say something about your brain, but mine isn't working at the moment."

"You can zing me later," she promised. She leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips.

Sam tried not to think about the dream.

"So. How do we get our hands on one of these?" Dean asked. He looked back at the book and frowned, obviously forgetting it was written in Greek.

"According to the book, they can be made," said Sam. "It's just a matter of getting the materials."

"Only you have to be precise. Specific kind of oak. Specific part of the tree. Put together a specific way, that sort of thing. I mean, it can be done, but." Rachel pulled out her phone and flipped it open. "This might be faster."

The phone beeped as she scrolled through her address book. Then she stopped, pressed a button, and put it to her ear. "Hello, Samuel Mott? This is Rachel Adams, Dr. Chris Adams' daughter?" She paused, then nodded. "Right. I'm looking for a box, made in Greece, commonly called a Pandora's box." Another pause, then she cracked half a grin. "Unoccupied, please. I'm planning to use it to trap something."

"Dude, if this thing's so rare, why does this guy know about it?" Dean asked, too loudly. Half asleep, too.

Out of developing habit, Sam glanced at the monitors next to Dean's bed. His heart rate had dropped down a beat after gaining two that morning. The doctor's had said not to worry, that it appeared his heart was gaining strength and with rest and physical therapy, could reach a normal rate again. Still, until Dean had enough energy to get out of bed for an extended period of time and stopped doping up, it'd go up and down. And, with it, Dean's alertness would vary.

"No clue," Sam said, as Rachel continued to describe what it was they needed. "I thought we were going to try and make it. This..."

"Seventy percent markup?" Rachel exclaimed. "Do you think I'm stupid?" Her face darkened at the answer. "I know for a fact that you give my father only a forty percent mark-up." She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. "Oh, really? What about the Iccarus feather you found for him two years ago? You telling me that those are at your everyday antique mall?"

"Never knew the world of antiques was such a cutthroat business," said Sam.

Dean shook his head.

"Forty-five, or I go to another dealer. Oh, yes I do know another dealer, you think you're the only one my parents use?" She winced when she said that, a blush coming to her cheeks.

Riding the parents coattails apparently was hard on her. If Sam's dad had the contacts and money hers did, he'd never blink when utilizing them.

"How long do you think it'll take?" Her eyebrows hit her hairline. "That soon?" Then she cleared her throat. "Good. If you can get it sooner, please do. I might be willing to pay a little more. Yeah, we'll see. Thanks." She hung up. "He says he might be able to get one in a week."

"A week? What do we do until then?" Sam asked.

She shrugged. "Try and find other ways to get it out?"

"But..."

"We need to hedge our bets, Dean," she interrupted. "This is one possible solution. And we don't even know if it’s going to work. So, we try other things."

"But that means that we're going to have to keep reading," he whined.

Rachel laughed and rolled her eyes at Sam. "Like you're doing any of the reading anyway," she said.

Dean sniffed. "I supply the entertainment. Which we need in these dark times."

"No kidding." Rachel yawned and lay back on the bed next to Dean.

He poked her in the leg. "Hey. What's an Iccarus feather?"

"You know the Greek myth? About the kid who flew too close to the sun?"

"Yeah?"

"Legend says that someone found the feathers, dipped them in bronze. And the feathers have powers." She yawned again. "They're especially useful in getting rid of poltergeists."

"Why?" Sam asked. "That makes no sense."

She shrugged. "They were found by a holy man who used a special kind of bronze from a shield reportedly used by Peruses or Hercules or something. Anyway, he used it against this slew of poltergeists that took up shop in this town in Main last year."

"Oh, yeah, I heard about that. Dad and I were on our way when we stumbled across a red cap."

"Those are Scottish." Rachel raised her head, eyes open.

Dean gave her a huge, lopsided grin. "That's what made it so cool. We couldn't even figure out what it was at first. Who woulda thought a Scottish... demon thing would be shacking up in an old mansion in Indiana?"

"Who woulda thought a Japanese demon would be preying on intellectuals at American universities?" Sam said idly.

Rachel froze. God, her eyes locked on his and she just looked... like he'd slapped her or something.

Dammit.

"Rachel..."

"It's okay." She smiled, wanly. "Anyway. Red cap, huh? You'll have to tell me all about that. Maybe I can sell a story off it."

Dean stopped glaring at Sam long enough to turn his attention to Rachel. "Oh, right. I forgot that you're making money off us now."

"Well, I knew you had to be good for something."

She still sounded stilted. Embarrassed.

Sam felt like shit.

Luckily, a nurse appeared at that moment. "Sam. We need you back in your room now."

He nodded and eased himself back into the wheelchair. For once he wasn't upset at having to leave.

***

"And this is your room," Rachel said, opening the door across from the room she'd designated as hers. "I guess. I mean, I suppose if you really want, you can have that one, but I figured that you might want to share the room with Dean. Because, well..."

"We're joined at the hip?" said Sam with a wry smile. "Yeah, it's fine. Thanks for not assuming we wanted to share a bed."

Rachel smirked at him. "Crossed my mind. You two are close."

"Not that close." He punched her in the shoulder, lightly. Treading lightly after the awkwardness at the hospital. All the awkwardness, starting with the dream and ending with him stuffing his foot in his mouth over the kitsune.

When the doctor had said Sam was finally being released, he'd been tempted to refuse. It wasn't that he didn't want to get out of the hospital and back to a semblance of freedom; it was just that he wasn't sure he was ready to live with Rachel. Alone. At least until Missouri came back.

And even then... God, she was going to have a field day with the sudden, burgeoning feelings he seemed to have for Rachel. Rachel, whom he'd never considered anything but Dean's girl. Rachel, who had always been safely relegated to the role of little sister (even though they were about the same age). Rachel, who was self-conscious and shy and arch and nothing like Jess had been.

Rachel, whose smile he couldn't help noticing made her eyes light up.

Dammit.

"There's some food in the refrigerator if you're hungry. Drinks. I haven't had much time to go shopping. Sorry."

She sounded guilty. Like giving up her life to run down and take care of his and his family wasn't enough. She had to feed him, too. And feed him better than his father had fed him growing up.

Sam sighed. There seemed to be no end to this woman's insecurity.

"I'll try to manage," he said. He went to the couch and sat down gingerly. His side ached from the broken ribs. In the hospital, he hadn't noticed them so much. Turns out the wheelchair actually did more than drive him crazy. His shoulder was bugging him, too; while in the hospital, food was delivered to him, and he never walked more than ten steps, except for that first night when he snuck down to visit Dean. And his drugs had been stronger there. Not as strong as Dean's, but, then, his heart hadn't been pulled out. What were a few broken bones compared to that?

He groaned and lay his head back. "You know, though, I don't know what you've been doing with your time if you haven't had time to shop. I mean, what? You're only running yourself completely ragged. It's not like no one's worried about you, either. No doctors telling a banged up patient to make sure you eat and sleep and don't show your face around the hospital until tomorrow."

"You don't have to be mean." Rachel sat at the other end of the couch and propped her feet up. "I've had a hard few days."

"Poor baby." He squeezed her feet. "Never had days like that."

She yawned and closed her eyes. "Did you ever think about it?"

"About what?"

"Hunting. While you were at college?"

He sighed. Rubbed his eyes against the headache that was coming on. "All the time, at first. It was impossible not to. Hunting was my life. It was what I did. And Dad trained us to look at everything with the supernatural in mind. Everything little thing that happened around campus, I thought it'd was a ghost or a spirit or something." It was his turn to yawn. His head felt fuzzy. "It settled down after a while. But it was hard. Especially since I wasn't talking to Dean."

"Why not?"

"He was angry at me. You know how he can be."

"Yeah. I know." She yawned. "Want to watch a movie?"

"You brought movies? You don't have food, but you have movies?" He opened his eyes and lifted his head.

Rachel grinned at him. "I brought the essentials, Sam. What did you expect?"

He laughed. "You and Dean have the strangest priorities."

"They're not strange. They're just... fitting for a life on the move, eh?"

He thought about that a moment, then nodded. "Yeah," she said. "I guess you're right."

***

Dean groaned. He felt sick. Tired. Kind of like he was going to throw up.

"Nurse?" he called. "Hey. Anyone there?"

"I'm here."

"Rachel. I thought you went home."

Rachel shook her head. "I did. But I thought I better check and make sure you were okay. Good thing." She got out of her chair and crossed over to him. "What's wrong?"

He winced. "I feel sick."

"Well, you are in the hospital. You are injured."

"Yeah, I know." He reached for her hand.

She pulled it away.

"What's wrong?" asked Dean, sitting up.

"Nothing. I just... if no one is here to watch us, I don't think we should pretend. I'm not comfortable with it."

Now he knew something was wrong. "I don't understand."

Her smile was kind of plastic. Familiar, but it didn't look like her. "Dean. Don't tell me that you really thought... Oh. You did."

"Well, yeah. Of course I did." He rubbed his eyes. "Didn't we just... today, I mean. I asked you and you said yes. I thought..."

"I thought you were joking."

Dean shook his head. "No."

This time her smile is full of pity. He hates it even more than the fake plastic one. "Poor Dean. Poor, poor homeless uneducated little Dean."

Poor Dean indeed.

***

 _No, no stop. Let me out. Stop, I can't..._

 _Rachel screams._

 _She doesn't make a sound_

***

It was raining. Soft. Gentle. A spring rain.

Sam loved days like this. Rainy days. Lazy days. Days made for staying in bed until noon, sleeping, reading, talking, watching TV.

And, most important, skipping class.

There was movement next to him. A soft sigh.

He turned over. "Morning."

Big brown eyes opened and looked at him sleepily. "Hey."

Sam slid his hand over her stomach, bared by the Smurfs tee shirt she always wore to bed. "It's raining."

"I'm aware of that," she answered.

"You know how I feel about rain." He bent down. Kissed her.

Her arms came around his neck, holding him down. Deepening the kiss. "Yeah," she whispered. "I know."

They kissed again. Sam moved on top of her. She wrapped her legs around Sam's waist.

"Sam," she sighed as he kissed down her neck.

"Rachel."  
***  
Dean sighed wearily and rubbed his forehead. He'd been hunting a shapeshifter for the past three days, and he was tired. All he wanted to do was sleep.

He unlocked the door to his room. Stepped inside.

"What the hell happened to his place?" he demanded.

The room was a mess. Clothes, weapons, books, food everywhere. A kid jumping on an unmade bed. Cartoons on the TV. He wasn't even dressed.

"Sorry," Rachel said from the table in the corner. She didn't even lift her eyes. "Noah hasn't been out all day. I've been working."

"Noah!" Dean shouted. "Stop jumping on the goddamn bed!"

"Don't swear at him!"

"Why aren't you watching him? Why didn't you stop... this? If he breaks the bed, we'll have to pay for it."

She snorted and finally looked at him. "We'll have to pay for it? Dean, since when have you ever paid for anything?"

***

The Smurfs shirt was long gone. She had the most perfect breasts; they fit right in the palm of his hands like they were made for him. Like she was made for him.

Vaguely, in the shadowy back corners of his mind, Sam thought that this felt wrong. Like... like it'd happened before. Like he'd been here, in this bed, on this day. But not with her. Not with Rachel. With someone else.

Blonde hair instead of brown. Golden skin instead of pale. Different...

He blinked. Groaned. He was hot. Liquid heat ran through his veins. Pooled at his groin. Built.

Peaked and Sam spilled over the edge.

***

"Oh, God. Oh God, ohgodohgodohgod," Dean moaned.

Rachel. Across the bed. Slashed open, blood everywhere. Eyes staring lifelessly. Accusing.

"Oh, God, Rachel," he sobbed, kneeling beside her. He touched her hair, her arm, her mouth. "Please, no."

She blinked. "I should have been safe," she said. "You should have kept me safe."

"I know, I..."

Rachel convulsed. Vomited blood. Sat up. Her hands clamped around his neck and squeezed.

Dean closed his eyes and surrendered to the dark.

***

Sam shot up. Sweat stung his eyes, and he blinked it away furiously.

Crap. He'd come in his jeans. Fuck.

"Oh shit," he heard Rachel moan.

"Rach?" Sam grabbed a pillow and covered his crotch. "What's going on?"

She was on the floor. She rested her head on the coffee table. "We fell asleep," she said. She sounded pained.

"Are you okay?"

Rachel looked up. Blood covered her face, flowing out of her nose, over her chin, down her neck. There was also a cut on her forehead, a gouge. And blood on the corner of the coffee table.

"Shit." Heedless of his sticky jeans, Sam jumped off the couch and knelt by her side. "Crap, what... Ah, Rach, you're still bleeding. I think we should get you to the hospital."

She nodded. Her face was sheet white, and she looked like she was going to pass out at any second. "It's the demon," she said. "He's using me. In your dreams, I don't know how. He's making me..."

Demon or not, it felt real. And the way he felt about her was definitely changing. Which was probably the intention.

"It's okay. Just... let me change. Sit. Uh..." He grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and handed it to her. "Use this. And then we'll go."

"Okay." She was crying. Tears pooled in her eyes, gathering on her lower lashes.

"It's going to be okay," Sam told her, only half believing it. On impulse, he kissed her on the forehead. "It'll be okay."

"I don't think it will," Rachel said, sounding like her heart was breaking.

"I will make it okay," he promised. "I swear."

***

"Rachel is resting comfortably," the doctor said. "She lost about a pint of blood, so we've given her some iron to help supplement. There's a bump on the back of her head; she said she fell off the couch and hit her head on the table."

"Yeah," Sam said. "I heard her hit it. Woke me up." It wasn't the only thing that did, but no one ever needed to know that. Ever.

"We're going to keep her here a few more hours, just to make sure the bleeding doesn't start up again."

"But you're not going to admit her?"

He shook his head. "Not unless there are any complications." He put his hand on Sam's good arm. "You did right by bringing her in."

Sam snorted softly. "Yeah, well, this place is like a second home these days." Neck tight, he tried to roll it, relieve some of the tension. All it did was send a sharp pain down his shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

"Just some pain. My shoulder." He rubbed his injured arm. "I think I missed some medication or something."

"What are you taking?"

"Uh, Norcet."

"And you were just released today?"

"Yeah."

"I'll go check your file for the medication dosage, and send a nurse with it. Jus rest, if you can. Make sure she rests. I'll be back in an hour or so."

Sam nodded. "Thank you, Doctor."

The man smiled and left.

Once he was gone, Sam pulled out his cell phone. He'd already called Missouri three times and gotten her voice mail each time. Considering the situation they were in, he'd expected to get through to her at any time--day or night. And yet, three calls, no Missouri.

Some psychic.

"You've reached Missouri. I can't answer, so leave me a message." The voice mail beeped.

"Hey, it's me again," Sam said, frustrated. "Rachel's okay. They gave her some iron supplements and are going to keep an eye on her. But we really need you back here. The demon is doing something to us and we can't seem to get a handle on it. Please, call back." He left his number again, just in case, and hung up.

God, he was tired. He wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for days.

Of course, if he did that, he might dream. And dreams, right now, weren't his friends.

Or, rather, perhaps they were a little too friendly.

Rachel looked like she was sleeping when he stepped through the curtains shielding her bed. When he sat next to her, though, she spoke.

"Have you gone up to see Dean?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I thought I should let him sleep. We'll talk to him in the morning."

She opened her eyes. They were red. Watery. "That was a memory, wasn't it?"

Sam cleared his throat. "What?"

"That dream. The one you were having about me." She licked her lips. "That was a memory."

His head spun as the blood drained from his face. Then, as he really processed what she'd said, his face flushed so hot, he started sweating. "The... you... you were there?"

She was blushing took. "Yeah. I was. Sort of. Last time, yesterday morning? It was in the dream. This time, I was outside. I just watched." She bit her lip. "And it felt different, anyway."

"Oh." He rubbed his face and looked away. "It happened a couple weeks after Jess and I moved in together." Sam cleared his throat. "Why was it different? Why are you there?"

"I don't know why I'm there. I mean, obviously the demon is doing something, but I don't know why. Or how."

"But this time, you weren't... I mean, we didn't..."

"It's still a dream. But, uh, no." She was blushing, too, twisting her blanket around her fingers. "When I was a kid, I'd have these vivid nightmares. Before I started actually seeing ghosts and stuff. My parents wouldn't even talk about them around me until they felt I was old enough. But Dad got it into his mind to teach me how to lucid dream. Me and my brother. That way, if I had any nightmares or anything, I could take control and get myself out of it. When I was falling asleep last night, I decided to put myself into a lucid dreaming state so what happened yesterday wouldn't again. Only... only something didn't work quite right." She shook her head. "I don't understand what I was doing in your and Dean's head. Or how."

His head snapped up to her. "You were in Dean's head, too?"

"Yeah. Only, it wasn't very pleasant. He was having nightmares and... Sam? Sam!"

"I gotta check on him!" Sam called as he jogged from the room.

Every step jolted his arm and caused fire to race down it. By the time he reached Dean's floor, he was panting harshly and sweating profusely. Worse, the pain was making black spots fly at his face.

But he had to make it to Dean.

"Sam!" A nurse stuck his head out of a patient's room.

"I need to get to Dean," he panted.

He ran to him and took him by the arm. "Dean's fine. They had to intubate him, but he's fine. Stable. He's okay."

Sam blinked. "He... what happened?"

"Let's sit down. Come on." He led Sam down the hall to Dean's room, and pushed him into a chair. Then, he got a cup of water and made Sam drink it while he checked Sam's pulse.

Dean was unconscious and pale. A tube came out of this throat, seeming to cover half his face. The monitors beeped steadily, adding to the Darth Vader-like breathing of the machine next to the bed.

When he'd caught his breath, Sam asked again, "What happened? He was fine when we left."

"We don't know why, but Dean stopped breathing. He started convulsing and then just stopped breathing. We got here within seconds and got him intubated. He's been fine ever since."

"Except for being unconscious."

"Well, yes."

"How's his heart?"

"Fine. It continued to beat through the entire episode. It picked up speed, like he was under attack. Adrenaline."

Sam nodded. Laid his head back against the wall and breathed. "This is just... It sucks, man."

The nurse put his hand on Sam's knee and squeezed. "I know. But Dean's a fighter. He's young and healthy. He'll get through this. So will you."

"Right. Maybe."

"Bob? Is...Oh, hi Sam," Nurse Rose said, sticking her head into the room. "They're looking for you down at the ER. The doc there says they've got some medication for you. Do you need it?"

"Yeah."

"Why you sister in the ER? Is she okay?"

Sam nodded. "She had a nosebleed that wouldn't stop and knocked her head on the coffee table. I was just, you know. Nervous."

Rose raised her eyebrow. "You didn't have her go off on one of your captures did you? Doing bounty hunting?"

"Oh, God no!" He smiled weakly at her and added, "If I let her do that, who'd take care of me?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, then nodded. "I'll send someone down to get it. Unless you want to go back and see her."

"I do, but..." He looked at Dean.

"I understand." She left.

Bob patted Sam's knee. "You going to be okay in here? Do you need anything?"

"Got an extra bed?" Sam asked with a smile.

"Actually, we may have a cot stashed around somewhere. Sometimes we lend it out to family members who just won't go, for whatever reason. I'll have an orderly bring one in."

"Thank you. I really appreciate it."

"No problem, man."

When Bob was gone, Sam pulled his chair to Dean's bed. "Hey," he said, taking his hand. "Look, you can't do this, okay? Whatever you were dreaming about, it wasn't real. The demon is just fucking with us. You gotta... let it all go, whatever you think happened. Please." He lay his head on the bed and squeezed Dean's hand. "I mean it. Just wake up."

***

Dean opened his eyes. He felt like shit, and not just because he could feel the tube stuck down his throat. He was exhausted. Empty. Dead inside. No reason to live anymore. Sam was dead. Rachel was dead. Their kid...

Wait. No. That wasn't... But he remembered it. Noah. Little boy, looked like him. Rachel's eyes. Dead. And Rachel on the bed. Dead. Possessed.

But what... when... why couldn't he remember anything of his life except for death?

"You're awake." Rachel. Palpable relief in her voice.

The bed under him shifted. Her face--young, unscarred, as beautiful as he remembered--hovered over his.

He couldn't talk, but he reached out for her.

"Hey you." She was crying in a quiet way, tears out of the corner of her eyes, nose pink. Voice steady. "You gave us a scare, babe. You shouldn't do that." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Smoothed back his hair as she entwined their left hands together.

Their rings pressed against one another. Some of the heavy darkness inside him faded.

The doctor came in just then. Checked his vitals. Removed the tube. Talked with Rachel. It was all a blur to Dean, who still wasn't sure what was going on. Still couldn't believe that none of it has been real.

The doctor finally left, leaving him and Rachel alone.

"What happened?" he asked. His throat hurt. Everything hurt. He'd made Rachel turn off the light and close the curtains as soon as the doctor had left since it just made his headache that much worse.

"The demon," she answered. She had a tissue in her hand, wiped her nose every few seconds.

He frowned. Nodded. "You look as bad as I feel."

That got him half a smile, but the tears fell faster. "I haven't slept in almost two days. Ever since... ever since the attack. I can't trust what it'll do and I don't know what to do anymore." Her lower lip trembled.

"Come here."

Shaking all over, Rachel climbed onto the bed and stretched out beside him. "I'm so tired," she whispered.

Dean stroked her hair-tangled again, and not smelling all that hot-and kissed her forehead. "I don't understand. I... I remember us being married. Having a kid. Fighting all the time." He frowned, fingers tightening on her arm. "Both of you dead."

"What was his name?"

"Noah."

She smiled. "Noah. I like that. Noah." Rachel sighed and snuggled against him. "It was all a dream."

"No, it wasn't."

"Yes, it was."

"No."

Rachel pushed herself up. "Dean, do you want it to be real? For me to be dead? Us to be fighting? For our kid..."

"No. No, I don't. But it was..." He broke off, seeing Rachel on the bed again, not wanting to.

"The demon's doing it. He's... I don't know how, but he's using me to make your and Sam's dreams more real."

"How?"

"I don't know how! I just know it's true. The first time, it just sent me to Sam. And it was... and then, I didn't want to. I thought I was just dreaming, so I didn't let myself really dream. I stayed lucid, because Dad always said you can't let your dreams control me."

"Wait, what kind of dream about Sam?"

"It wasn't me," she said, giving him all the answer he needed. "I don't feel like that for Sam, but it's trying to, I don't know. I don't even think it has anything to do with me. It's all about you two, and I'm just... just the... the something. I don't even know."

She was crying hard now. It was hard to understand her.

He put his hand on her cheek. "You saw my dream?"

"No, not really. It had me trapped over in Sam, but I could feel it was horrible. Knew how much it was hurting you, and I just wanted to get free and I couldn't. I c-couldn't and I don't know w-what to do, Dean."

Dean pulled her down again and held her. Trying to think, but it was never his strong suit under the best circumstances. Besides, he was pumped full of drugs right now.

But one thing stuck in his mind. "What about Missouri? What does she say?"

"She was in a car accident. She's in a coma, too. Real bad head injury."

"Fuck."

She let out a shuddering sob.

"Shhh," he soothed. He rubbed her back. "Did you call your dad?"

"He's not answering his phone. I've left a dozen messages, and I don't know why he's not calling back. And Mom's out of the country again, and my brother is... Dean, I'm scared."

"Hey." He pushed her up. Stroked her bottom lip with his thumb. "You're tired. You need to sleep."

Eyes wide and frightened, Rachel shook her head. "No. No, I can't."

"Yes, you can. You have to. I've got you now. Nothing's going to hurt you."

"You don't know that."

"I do." He took her left hand again. Rubbed his thumb over the ring. "Whatever blessing you got on these things react when they're together. Don't you feel it? Every time we touch, I can feel the... the demon or whatever. That heaviness? It's going away. We're safe together. Maybe when you're with Sam or in the cot over there, the demon can get you, but with me?" He shook his head.

Rachel licked her lips. Lowered her eyes. "I'm just afraid that I'm going to lose you before I've ever had you. That the demon's going to make you stop... wanting to be with me."

Dean shook his head. "That's not going to happen. It can't make me not want to be with you." He pulled her down again. Stroked her hair. "Sleep."

It took a while. He continued to rub her back, stroke her hair until the tension finally melted from her body.

Once she was asleep, he sighed. Rested his cheek against her hair.

No demon was going to stop him from wanting her. Or caring for her. It'd just make him leave her, for protection. To protect her from him, from the life in his dreams. A life he'd never inflict on either her or their...

Or their son.

***  
Sam was so sick of staying awake. For two days he'd tried, tried like hell for Rachel's sake. Made a deal with her, that'd they'd sleep on shifts, he'd take one time, she'd take another. But she was too afraid that the demon would get her, and Dean would kill him if he found out he let her stay up for days on end while he slept.

Which meant, of course, Dean was going to kill him. Sam was on medication and it made him drowsy. He'd tried to go without it, but the pain from his shoulder had been too intense. Which meant he took the Norcet and fell asleep and Rachel had been awake for two days.

Everything was going to hell. Dad was no closer to getting cured, they still didn't have the Pandora's Box, he and Rachel couldn't sleep at the same time, and Missouri was the latest victim in a long string.

The constant stress was getting to him. He was thinking things, like how when he used to be stressed, he had Jess to go to. Jess to hold and, no, he wasn't any more for talking about his feelings than Dean was, and Jess didn't need him to talk. She just let him lay there and shut down until the stress bled out of him and he could function again.

He didn't have that now. Jess was dead. Rachel was Dean's. And Sarah...

Sarah was in danger. He wanted to call her so badly. Call her and tell her everything that was happening. To let it all out and then tell her to get the hell out of the country. To run far and fast. To be safe. But he was afraid that she'd react the same way Rachel and Cassie had reacted to Dean's message: ignore the danger, ignore the words and come straight to it.

Besides. Maybe the demon didn't know about her. Maybe it'd leave her alone as long as he didn't lead it to her.

Maybe Dean had been right back in New Haven, after the kitsune. Maybe one night stands were the way to go. Get the edge off, leave off the emotional attachment and, with it, the danger. Maybe it'd been better to never have fallen in love with Rachel.

Sarah! Jess! Dammit.

"Fuck," Sam swore. "Jess and Sarah," he said to himself. "Not Rachel. Christ."

He didn't love Rachel. He knew it didn't. And yet, somehow, it was hard to keep that in mind. They'd barely spoken in two days, each taking turns at Dean's side and researching at the apartment. Strangers, practically, not even asking how the other was. It should have been enough.

But, somehow, she'd gotten under his skin. The demon had put her there and Sam didn't understand why. Except for the fact it was a demon, and demons liked chaos.

Well. Chaos achieved.

His eyes drifted shut. A heavy lethargy settled over his body. God, he needed sleep. Real sleep. Sleep not influenced by drugs. Uninterrupted by dreams or phone calls or new disasters. Real, deep, true sleep like he used to get before... before Jessica died.

Jess...

His phone rang.

"God dammit," he swore. Without opening his eyes, Sam reached out with his good hand. Searched for the phone.

When he found it, he flipped it open without opening his eyes. "Hello?" he said, voice heavy and grim. He could only imagine this was some new emergency or death.

"Um, hello. To which Winchester am I speaking?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

"Sam."

"Hello, Sam. This is Rachel's father."

His eyes opened. "Dr. Adams." He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked closer; he had Rachel's phone. Which meant that Rachel probably had his. And Dean's. This phone situation was getting very confusing.

"Um, hi. Sorry, Rachel and I must have switched phones. Are you all right?"

"Am I all right? Are you all right? You're the one who was recently in a coma."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Relatively speaking. But Rachel's been trying to get a hold of you for almost two days. Your whole family. She hasn't gotten through to anyone."

"Did she leave any messages?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't get any." Dr. Adams sounded dismayed. Upset. "I haven't heard a peep out of her for days, and I wanted to get an update. Are you making any progress with your father?"

"He's still unconscious, but Rachel thinks we can get the parts of the demon left inside him with a Pandora's Box. We're just waiting to get one."

"What about Dean?"

Sam swallowed, his throat aching. "We, uh. As far as I know, he's unconscious right now. Rachel, Dean and I... we've been having problems. Dreams. Rachel says the demon is using her somehow to affect our dreams. And whatever it showed Dean made him, uh, I don't know. Stop breathing. Slip into a coma. I don't know, I just know that he's been unconscious since it happened."

"Describe to me what went on? I don't understand what you mean."

Sam sighed, heavily, and explained. He left out the details of the dreams--the man had already walked in on his daughter in the shower with Dean, he didn't need to hear about the brother having sex dreams about her--but tried to convey the vividness of details. And the unexpectedness. Because he did have to hint at the nature of the dreams, vaguely as possible, otherwise, it wouldn't have mattered.

"Of course she would be the one," Dr. Adams sighed when he was done.

"She's the one what?"

"My family is gifted with various psychic ability. My father is psychic. My wife is a touch telepath. Gifts like these are often passed down through generations. I've been testing my children for years, to see if they have the gift. My father warned that, with the way the pattern tends to go, this generation, if they had any gifts, would have the ability to do astral project. Neither Rachel nor Nathan have ever showed the inclination. I did take some measures to help them not get lost or overwhelmed, though."

"The lucid dreaming," Sam said.

"Yes. Changes astral projection into remote viewing."

"She did say the second time, it was more like she was watching, rather than participating."

Dr. Adams sighed. "You poor kids. If she wasn't there..."

"If she wasn't there, Dean and I would be screwed." He rubbed his forehead. "Is there anything we can do?"

"Hang a dream catcher over her bed."

"I thought those caught bad dreams."

"It'll catch an outgoing spirit, too. There are catchers designed specifically to catch astral projections, but a dream catcher will do in a pinch."

He frowned. "Why don't I just hang one over Dean's and my bed?"

"You can. But she'll still come out of her body, and the demon will still have its way with her." Then, "Not the way I meant, of course."

Sam thought about what the demon was using Rachel for in his dreams and blushed. "Yeah. I know." He rubbed his forehead again. "You don't happen to have a Pandora's Box around, do you? Rachel said that it's probably the best way to get Dad better."

"No, I don't. Did she contact my antique dealer?"

"She did, yeah. We haven't heard back yet."

"I see." There was a pause. "Dare I ask about Rachel and Dean?"

"Uh, last I know, Dean had finally gotten it past his thick skull that he needed to tell Rachel how he felt about her. And now they're together."

"I hope so. She moped around for months after he left last time."

Sam smiled, glad that he, a wealthy man with a college-educated daughter on route for more college education, approved of her relationship with Dean. "It's not that I don't get that they're not exactly in the most ideal position for a relationship, but the fact that Dean would always feint at the last second was driving me crazy. Be with her or don't, but don't lie about your feelings, you know?"

"I completely agree. It was the lack of closure that sent her spiraling, not the fact he left. She knew that was going to happen, but when he pulled back at the last moment..." He sighed. "Anyway. I'll call back later, so if you can get her phone to her, I'd appreciate it. And if you need anything..."

"I'll call. I promise. Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome."

________________________________________

 

She heard talking. Low. Distant. A familiar voice but one she couldn't place.

Without opening her eyes, Rachel rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in a pillow. It smelled like Dean and the hospital, both familiar smells. One was welcome. The other was not. She pulled the blanket over her and snuggled down, trying to get more of the welcome smell and less of the hospital.

"Like I always say," the low, distant voice said, "be thankful for what you have. You'll end up having more."

Sad that she knew that quote.

"Oprah?" she said. "Seriously?"

"It's either this, Dr. Phil, or the news," Dean responded. "And I'm sick of hearing about how coffee is gonna kill me and the latest non-injury crash on a street that isn't blocking traffic." He squeezed her hand, which was in his. "How you feel?"

Rachel opened her eyes. Dean was sitting in a chair next to the bed. He had a pillow held against his chest with his free arm. He was wearing the robe Rachel had brought him a few days back, and looked much healthier and alive than the last time she'd seen him.

But he'd asked about her. She took quick stock before saying, "Better. What about you?"

"Much better than I did."

"Good." She stretched, yawned. "I'm so hungry."

"I saved some of my breakfast." He nodded at the tray.

"Thanks." Rachel sat up and pulled it to her. Underneath the plastic cover were some dubious looking eggs, pathetic toast, and a slice of what was supposed to be an orange.

"Do they actually expect people to get better on this stuff?"

"That's what I want to know." Dean rose from his chair and moved over to the bed. "I hate trying to choke down that crap."

Rachel nodded, chewing the dried out toast. "When I'm really awake, I'll go get you some real food. Gotta keep my baby strong." She smiled at him.

Dean smiled back, but looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, I'd appreciate that." He squeezed her shoulder lightly. "So."

"So." It was suddenly really awkward in the room and she wasn't sure why. "Uh, how long did I sleep?"

"About fifteen hours or so."

"Wow, that long?"

"Almost Sleeping Beauty long."

Rachel snorted and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. "I really need a shower."

"Yeah, you really do."

She punched him lightly in the thigh. "So do you."

"I'll have you know, I just showered. That smell you smell? Is hospital." He wrinkled his nose. "I need to get out of here is what I need to do. I'm sick of this place."

She leaned against him and said, "Then get better. Stop not breathing."

Dean frowned at her. "Hey, I remember that lesson from school. That's a double negative."

"Gold star for you." She kissed him on the cheek.

He sighed and slipped his arm around her. "Look, Rach, I've been thinking..."

"You better not have been thinking about breaking up with me, because I will rip your heart out, Dean Winchester, don't think I won't."

"Jesus, you channeling Missouri or something?"

She glared at him.

Dean looked down. Shook his head. Took her hand in his. "I don't want to end up like we were in my dreams."

"We won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because our life won't be run by a demon who is trying to fuck with our heads."

He cocked an eyebrow. "How do you know?"

Okay, point.

Rachel sighed. "Dean, we've had this conversation again and again. Bad things happen. We both know that. And we both know there's a lot of scary things out there. I'd rather face them with you at my side than alone." She wrinkled her nose. "I suck at facing them alone."

"I don't."

"No," she said, an unbidden smile crossing her face. "But you do suck at the research part. Or, at least, you suck at wanting to do the research part. And that's my favorite part."

"But what about Noah? What about us fighting all the time?"

"Dean, Noah doesn't exist." Yet, she added mentally. Of course, they had to have sex for them to have a kid, and that seemed less likely to happen than ever. "And people fight. Married people fight. It's normal."

"No."

"Yes. My parents fight. Not in front of me if they can help it, but they fight. And they love each." She laced their fingers together and squeezed his hand. "I'm sure you and Sam fight with one another, on occasion. And yet, the love is still there."

"But..."

"Look, if you don't want to be with me because you don't like me, then fine. But don't be stupid."

"I'm not stupid!"

"Yes you are!" she shot back. She was about to say more when her phone rang. "Hold that thought."

Her phone was in her bag, which was under the bed. The name on the LCD was unfamiliar. "This isn't mine. Who's Sarah?" she asked.

Dean shrugged. "I've got a lotta girls' names in that thing."

She rolled her eyes. "Hello?"

"Um, hi. I'm calling for Sam?"

"It's Sam's phone," she told Dean. "I'm sorry, he and I must have switched phones. Who is this?"

There was a pause. "I'm Sarah," she replied shortly. "Who are you?"

"I'm Rachel. I'm friends with the Winchesters. They're having some problems right now, so I'm helping them out." Then, "I'm not, you know. With Sam or anything."

"Oh."

"Oh, wait, is that Sarah, Sarah?" Dean said suddenly.

"Well, her name is Sarah," Rachel told him.

"Ask her if she's the chick with the haunted picture."

"No, Dean, I was the chick with the haunted picture. Did you take more morphine?"

"I had a haunted picture," Sarah said. "A painting."

"I had a haunted photograph." Rachel glared at Dean. "You should have told me."

"I don't know you," Sarah said.

"Not you, Dean."

Dean frowned at her. "Why?"

She smacked him on the leg. "Because this is what I research, you moron! I could have gotten a great article out of two cases of a haunted picture." Then she frowned. "Still can. Sarah, would you mind if I called you some time, talked you about your experience?"

"You should tell her to come here, visit Sam," Dean said. "Make him happy."

Rachel titled her head. "What do you mean?"

He flashed her a leering smile. "Sarah there is Sam's lady love. Or, would be, if they had any time together."

There was a heartbeat when the air around her seemed to go completely still.

And then Rachel felt a darkness slam down around her.

She gasped. A thousand needles of ice pressed into her skin. Knives jammed through her skull, clawing to get in her. Thunder sounded in her hears and she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but fight futilely against it.

Words formed in her heard. Pressed in her mouth.

"You should come," she wanted to say. "Stay with Sam. He'd like to see you."

Her lips moved, ready to say the words.

Rachel bit her lip. Made a loud, strangled sound.

The demon roared. Pressed harder.

Her back arched. Phone fell from limp fingers. Blood dripped from her lip as she bit through.

It got harder to breathe. Her vision grew dark, and the demon pressed in harder. Felt like a razor sliding beneath the upper layer of her skin. Felt like death.

 _So easy_ it whispered. _Just say the words and it will be over. Invite her here. It'll make Sam happy, you want him to be happy, don't' you? Why are you fighting what will make your friend happy? Why hurt yourself when you know what I want is right?_

 

So easy. Tears squeezed from her eyes like tracks of lava down her too-cold cheeks. When she opened her mouth to draw in air, a crazed groan escaped.

"C-c-com," she started to stutter, but quickly closed her mouth. Bit her lip. Determined to bite through it if she had to.

To die if she had to.

"Rachel!" And then Dean was on her, thighs on either side of her hips. Hands on her wrists, mouth over hers.

The cold was chased away, replaced by a douse of heat, like scalding water thrown over her. The shock of it make her entire body tense, fists clench.

"S-salt," she gasped when Dean broke the kiss. She couldn't breathe, needed air. Needed blankets, needed something.

"I don't have any."

"Backpack."

One hand trapped around her wrist, Dean lunged for the backpack. His face contorted in pain, but he got it. Opened it and rummaged through until he found the salt. Kept contact as he spread the circle around them, surrounding them in the protection.

The ice and pressure vanished completely. Rachel heard the roar of anger as the demon left the room. A faint whisper of promised that it'd return, it'd get her, it'd make her pay.

"You okay?" Dean asked. He set the salt down and leaned against the bed.

She nodded. Wondered if she was going to throw up.

He pulled her to him. Held her tight. Fear in his hands as he gripped her too tightly. She could feel each finger press into her skin and knew that she'd have bruises, courtesy of iron-depleted blood.

Dean buried his face in her hair and just held her for a long moment. She could feel his body tremble, and between the two of them, it felt like a small earthquake.

"What," he finally said, pushing her hair aside to rest his forehead against the side of her face, "the fuck was that?"

"The demon. Tried to possess me." She turned around and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Dean," Rachel whispered, holding him, tears flowing from her eyes. "I know what the demon is trying to do."

***

"So, what's going on?" Sam asked a bit more irritably than he'd intended. He'd just barely found a comfortable position, one that didn't make his head, shoulder, or back hurt, and close his eyes, not to sleep, but to rest them, when Rachel had burst into the apartment babbling about almost being possessed and she knew what was going on and she had to take a shower, but they needed to get back to the hospital as soon as possible.

And now he had to watch her, sitting on Dean's bed, combing her still-wet hair, Dean's hand on her leg. They were practically sitting on top of one another, and it shouldn't bug him, but it did. It burned in him, like a hot coal in the center of his chest. He wanted to smack them both.

Rachel flipped her hair over her shoulder and set her comb down. "I got a call earlier. From Sarah." A look of fear pinched her face suddenly.

Dean squeezed her leg. "I've got the whole room lined with salt. We should be safe." He squeezed her hand.

The fear didn't leave, but she nodded. "I didn't know about her before. And I don't think the demon did, either. Because when it realized there was a woman that you cared about romantically, it tried to possess me. To make me invite her here."

The room was way too cold. Cold, but his palms were sweating. He felt disgusting. Slimy. "Why?"

"It obviously is trying to get someone you care about near you. Romantically, I mean. I think that's what the dreams are about. It's trying to make you, if not fall in love with me, then think you're in love with me."

"Why?"

She shook her head. "I'm not one hundred percent about that part." She folded her legs under her and leaned forward. "Okay, when you told me about what happened with you and Dean and the demon, something struck me as weird. You said that the demon had you and Dean pressed against a wall. He had the gun. And then he put it down."

 

"Right. I said I was going to kill him, and he taunted me about not having the gun," Sam said, annoyed at having to go over what he'd already told her. "So he put it down and told me to get it."

"What did he call you?"

He frowned. Thought. "Psychic boy."

Rachel nodded her head. Sort of smiled. "That's what I thought."

"We already know he's psychic," Dean said. "The demon didn't tell us anything new."

"Yeah, but, psychics don't move things with their minds," Rachel said. "They... they tell the future or have visions. They don't necessarily move things with their minds. And Sam can't. Right?"

"Right," Sam agreed. Then he frowned. "Except that once."

Rachel frowned. "When?"

"A few months back. I was having all these visions and we found this kid who was telekinetic. His mother had died the same way ours did, and his powers kicked in around the same time mine did."

"Dean told me about him," she said.  
Sam rubbed his forehead. "It's... he locked me in a closet. Had Dean and his stepmom upstairs, and I saw a vision of him shooting Dean in the head. And suddenly, there was this... surge inside me. I pushed the dresser or whatever it was he had blocking the door away with my mind."

"But you haven't done it since."

He shook his head.

"Okay." Rachel nodded, chewing on her lower lip. Her lip looked awful, all chewed up. As soon as she started to bite it, blood beaded and dripped down her chin.

Dean wiped it away with the corner of the sheet. "Stop it, or you'll have to get stitches."

She nodded distractedly. "So, this power got triggered because you needed to save Dean."

"I guess." He could almost see where she was going. He didn't like it.

"So, the demon told you to get the gun. He was threatening Dean while he did it. That's when he started pulling out Dean's heart, right?"

Sam nodded. Sullen.

"I think that, maybe, you're supposed to have telekinetic abilities, too."

"No."

But Dean was nodding. "Makes sense. That's why I get my heart torn out, and you get pinned to the wall. The demon's not trying to kill you; it's trying to... goad you."

Rachel nodded. "Only, this time, threatening Dean didn't work. So it's trying to make it more... something. Intimate? Than Dean. He's trying to make you fall in love."

He thought about it a moment, then shook his head. "No. No. If I was supposed to be telekinetic, why do I get visions? Max didn't have visions. He just moved stuff. I have visions. They are different powers."

"No completely," Rachel insisted. "They come from the same source. Maybe Max will develop psychic abilities in addition..."

"Max is dead," Sam snapped. "Shot himself in the head."

She faltered only a bit. "Okay, fine. But maybe if he hadn't shot himself, he would develop them. And maybe you should have telekinesis. Only it hasn't shown up for some reason." She frowned and pulled her legs into her chest. "So. Maybe there was something different in your upbringing."

"Like the fact that, after his mom was killed, his dad didn't cash in their college funds and drag them across the country fighting demons and denying them the possibility of a normal existence?"

"Yes, exactly," Dean said angrily. "Only, you know, how he also didn't beat you to a bloody pulp every day, blaming you for Mom's death."

"Listen!" Sam started, but Rachel was between them suddenly, kneeling in the middle of the bed, holding her hands out to stay the argument.

"So not the point right now, guys! Just... cut it out. Both of you." She put her hands to her temples. "They beat him?"

"Yes," said Sam, still glaring at his brother. "He used his powers to kill them."

"Okay. Okay, good, that's what I was looking for. The... clue. The key, whatever." She sat back on her heels. "To be sure about this, I'd have to research the other kids the demon went after. Your dad mentioned them in his journal, but he was following the demon as it went after this round, not really looking into the last round. Really sloppy, by the way, because this thing has a motive. Understanding a demon like this is all about motive."

"You know what, Rach? You can criticize my dad once you get him out of his coma, okay?" said Dean. "Until then, shut up."

"You are such an ass."

"Bite me."

"Okay, anyway," she continued loudly, glaring at him, "we have one case of a kid who was victimized his entire life. He never felt safe. And then, suddenly, he develops this ability, which was probably always inside him, waiting for... a trigger or for him to reach a certain age or something. You on the other hand, grew up in an environment where you were protected."

"What?"

Rachel grimaced. "Sam you were. No matter how unstable your life was, your dad loves you very much. Your brother would do anything for you."

"He was a jerk to me when we were growing up."

"He's your brother. Of course he was a jerk. That doesn't change the fact that he'd do anything for you."

There really was no rebuttal. Especially not with Dean looking at him like that.

Sensing his agreement, Rachel sighed. Ran her hands through her hair. "The demon must have known that you use telekinetic powers to save Dean. That's why it hurt him, not you. And didn't you say that back in Chicago, the devas were more after your dad and Dean while you had to watch?"

What she was saying couldn't make sense. He didn't want it to make sense, because he didn't want any of this to have anything to do with him.

"Yeah," he finally said.

"So, it tried putting them in danger, it didn't work. It tried again, and it still didn't work. So now, it's decided to up the stakes. Only, it's already killed your girlfriend, so it's trying to fake it. To use me. So it sends us dirty dreams about each other, and Dean dreams about all the things that can go bad if we get together, and hopes to manipulate us all into the position it wants." She licked her lips. "Until it found out about Sarah."

The coldness returned. "It's going to kill her."

Rachel tilted her head. "Only if it can get her here. It won't do any good if she's killed in ... where she is, and you're here. You have to be in the same place."

"I told her not to come," Dean said. "I called her back when Rachel went to get you. Told her not to come and maybe she might want to take off on a vacation or something. Maybe Rome." He tugged on Rachel's hair. "With any luck, your girl will be more obedient."

She smacked his hand. "Oh, I'm sorry. Next time a hospital calls to tell me my husband is in a coma, I'll tell I can't come because he has some overwrought sense of chivalry." Then she looked at Sam. "But, really, Sarah, should go somewhere safe. Rome sounds good."

Sam nodded, not really listening to what they were saying to him. All he could hear was that Sarah was in trouble. Rachel was in trouble. Any woman he had feelings for was in danger because of him.

And Dean wasn't safe either. No one that Sam cared about was. If this demon was trying to trigger him into using some untapped power to save someone cared about, then...

Then he had to leave.

"I need to..." Sam shook his head. Rubbed his eyes. God, he was so tired.

"You need to sleep," Rachel said. "I can stay awake while you sleep, but you need to rest. And then, you need to start working on telekinesis."

Her words were enough to shock him out of his haze. "Wait. What?" He blinked at her.

She looked serenely back at him. "You need to try and develop that power."

"Why on earth would he do that?" Dean asked, echoing Sam's own sentiment.

"Because that way the demon won't have any reason to hurt the people he loves," Rachel said slowly, as if talking to brain damaged children. "If he has control of the power, can use it, then the demon doesn't need to help spark it in him."

"But it wants me to have this power," said Sam. "It wants me to be able to use telekinesis. Shouldn't that mean the last thing I want to do is give it what it wants?"

Rachel sighed. Rubbed her forehead wearily. Even though it was obvious that she'd finally gotten sleep, she still looked tired. They all did. All had circles under their eyes and pale, drawn skin. If the demon didn't kill them, the lack of sleep and constant stress would. And fighting among themselves wasn't going to help.

"Rachel," he said softly. Sam got out of his chair and crossed to Dean's bed, sitting on it. "The demon said he had plans for me. Me and all the kids like me. So it seems dangerous to try and use this power."

"But Sam. Don't you see that if you don't, it'll just keep coming after us? Me, Dean, Sarah, who knows who else? We're not safe. If you can use the power, at least it won't need to hurt us to try and make you use it anymore. It'll just... try and make you use it for whatever reasons it wants you to."

He shook his head. "I don't want to."

"I think she might be right, Sam." Dean didn't sound happy about agreeing with her, though. "I mean, you have a choice, right? If you use it or not. And it's not like you'll let the demon use you. Or anything."

"How do you know?" Sam rubbed his shoulder, trying to ease the ache as well as he could. He needed more drugs, but he wanted his mind clear. If possible. "How do you know I'll have a choice? I don't have a choice of when I get visions. They just come. I don't have any say. What if it's the same with telekinesis."

Rachel frowned pensively. "Um. They are different powers. Visions come from somewhere else; you have to concentrate to move things."

As much as he hated to admit it, Sam knew that she was probably right. She knew more about this psychic stuff than he did. And there was a certain kind of logic to her words. He didn't like it, but there it was.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't even know how I'd go about it."

Rachel let out a long sigh and slumped against Dean. Dean immediately put his arm around her and squeezed.

"I don't know either," she admitted. She looked at him sleepily. Shook her head. "I wonder if my dad has any idea. If only I could get a hold of him."

Sam started and realized that he hadn't told her he'd called. "Your dad called earlier. On your phone. Oh." He pulled her phone from his pocket and briefly explained what he and her dad had discussed.

"Astral projection," she said, digging through her backpack. "That's crazy, I can't..." She trailed off. Frowned. "Oh. Wow. That kind of explains some stuff, I guess. I've always had such vivid dreams. Woken up knowing things that had happened on the other side of the room before watching the news or anything." She shook her head. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"That you'll have to ask him." He turned his phone over in his hand. "Do you have any books on telekinesis?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I'll have to go back to the apartment and look." She looked at Dean. "Will you be okay alone?"

Dean nodded. He looked like he wanted to do nothing more than sleep, something they all shared. "I'll be fine." He kissed her lightly on the lips. "Go. I'll see you later."

She kissed him, then pushed off the bed. "Sam?"

"I'll be there in a minute."

He waited until she was gone, then got up and closed the door. "Do you think she's right? Do you think I really need to figure out how to use this... thing?"

Dean shrugged. "I honestly don't know. You know I'm not really into this whole thing. It's weird. I mean, you're psychic. You're part of the whole supernatural world. I don't get it."

The words hurt. He didn't want them to, but they did. "So you think I'm evil."

"No. No way, Sam. You're the furthest thing from evil," Dean said vehemently. "I just... don't know." He shook his head. "I guess she's got a point. You control this thing, the demon doesn't."

"I guess." He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I'm so tired."

"We all are, dude. I say that you and Rachel go find one of those dreamcatchers and we all try to get some sleep. We're killing ourselves."

"I know." He licked his bottom lip and looked down. "Dean. We are going to get through this. Right?"

Dean was silent a minute. Then he leaned forward and punched Sam on his good shoulder.

***

He waited until he was sure they were gone. At least twenty minutes, he figured should do it. Then, even though he knew he should sleep too, he did what he knew he should not.

Carefully, Dean removed the IV from his arm. Blood swelled out, but he taped it down with the gauze he found in a cabinet. Then he pulled the heart monitors off, threw them on the bed. Slipped on a pair of pajama pants-he'd begged Rachel to bring him real clothes, but she'd refused, saying it'd only give him the impulse to get up and explore. Well, nothing but nothing was going to stop him from wandering around, even in his PJs.

Robe on. Slippers on. And he was ready to go.

Walking was not the easiest thing in the world. It was a miracle he wasn't caught on his trek to the elevator. His legs felt like putty. His arms ached. His chest hurt with every breath and his head spun because he couldn't quite get the air in.

But fate smiled on him and no nurse or doctor saw him. He made it to the elevator. Inside and to the floor his father was on.

The door opened on Dr. Issacon's grim face.

"Ah. Man," Dean panted. He hit his head on the wall.

"Sit, Dean," the doctor said. He pointed to the wheelchair the orderly next to him was holding, ready.

"I just want to see my father, man," he protested. But he sat anyway. His legs were shaking and a knife went through him with every breath. "Just wanna see him."

"I know. But we need to make sure you haven't injured yourself." He wheeled Dean into a nearby room. Hooked him up to a heart machine, took his blood pressure and checked how he was breathing. "Your heart rate's up. Expected, but also a good sign. You're not oxenigating well, though. James, get a tank of oxygen. We'll hook it to the wheelchair."

The orderly left in a flash, leaving Dean and the doctor alone.

"You gonna let me see my dad?" Dean asked. His chest felt like an elephant was sitting on it.

He nodded. "Since you're up here. In fact, you've been doing very well the past couple days. I think I would have approved an official visit, had you asked."

Dean snorted.

"Since your episode three days ago, you're heart's gone up almost four beats per minute. You're not sleeping well, but I've noticed none of your family is, either. I could give you a sedative to help you out..."

"Not until I see my father," he said, setting his jaw.

The doctor sighed. He said nothing until the orderly came back with the oxygen. Dean had to admit that he felt a lot more human once he was hooked up.

"If my heart rate's up," he asked, "why did coming up the elevator make me feel like I was running a marathon?"

"It's up, almost normal, but you've still been injured. And badly. You need time to heal. Time, rest, and physical therapy." He took the wheelchair and wheeled Dean out of the room. "I'll have you start with easy exercises tomorrow. Provided you get a full night's sleep."

"Don't think that's possible in a hospital."

"Try." Dr. Issacon stopped outside a room. "Fifteen minutes. That's it. No arguments."

"But..."

"Fifteen minutes," he reiterated. Then he pushed Dean inside.

All thought of arguing died on Dean's tongue when he saw Dad. Dad, who had always been so big and strong, now all pale and wasted. God.

Dean's knees were pressed against the bed. He was able to take his father's hand.

"So, uh. Sorry I haven't been here before," he said. His voice was horse. And it was weird talking with the oxygen pumping in his nose. "They have all these rules." Tape scratched at his face, and it hurt to talk. Irritated, Dean yanked the oxygen tubes from his nose. "Anyway. Sam and Rachel and I are working on getting you awake. You know Rachel, right? Brown hair, always has ink on her chin? Annoying as hell? Smarter than Sammy? Well. Maybe smarter than Sammy, the jury's still out on that. Anyway, Sam decided that she would be a good choice to protect us if something like this ever happened. And I guess she's doing a decent enough job."

He frowned and bit his bottom lip. Then he leaned forward, crossed his arms on the bed and rested his chin. The movement caused some kind of tearing in his chest. It made his breath catch, but it got bearable and he forgot it.

"The thing is, Dad. Well. The thing is, this girl and I. We're kind of. I don't know. I have no clue what we are." He shrugged, wincing as it brought on more tearing. "The hospital thinks we're married. And I guess I like her." He swallowed. Pressed his forehead on his arms. "Guess I love her. Whatever, I don't know." He picked his head up again, resting his chin on his arms. "She drives me crazy. And I'm terrified of losing her."

It was getting dark in the room. And it was harder to see. Like there was smoke in the air or something. He blinked a few times, but it didn't help. And it hurt to breathe again.

Dean rubbed his hand on his chest. It was wet or something. Sticky.

"Dad, you have to wake up," he whispered. Even though he could hear the beeping of the machines that his father was hooked up to, they seemed so far away. Fuzzy. Distant. "I know that you've got that demon in you still. Keep fighting him. Don't let it get the better of you."

God, he was so tired. He hadn't been this tired when he'd left his room. He'd been better. It'd been...

________________________________________

Dean opened his eyes. It was silent. Way too silent in here. He didn't like it.

He stretched his back, then swung his legs over the bed. The floor was cold under his feet, but he ignored it. Glanced at the clock on the bedside and saw it was ten AM.

Where the hell were Rachel and Sam then? They'd agreed to meet here first thing in the morning. Ten AM was not first thing.

"Rose," he said, approaching the nurse's station. "Do you know where my brother and Rachel are?"

Rose, who was typing at the computer, ignored him.

Dean blinked. Rose loved him. And he loved when she was on duty, because she was always bringing him stuff. Like edible food. "Rose? Hey." He snapped his fingers in front of her face.

She didn't even blink.

What the hell?

"Sam! Rachel!" Dean shouted. He turned. There were others striding up and down the hall. "Hey! Dude! Lady! Look at me!"

None of them did.

"What the fuck is happening?" Dean shouted in pure frustration. Okay, if Sam and Rachel weren't here, that must mean they were with Dad. He'd just walk there and...

He stopped abruptly. Turned.

His body was lying back in his bed. There was an intubation tube in his throat and nose. The monitors were back in full force.

Dean wasn't in his body.

"Oh. Fuck."


End file.
